


Mirror Match

by Hell_On_Training_Wheels



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Baby MK11 Erron Black - Freeform, Bad Dirty Talk, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Drama & Romance, Erron Black/Original Female Character - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hair Pulling, Jealous, Kissing, MK11 Erron Black, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, bitter rivarly, female and male, mature - Freeform, playful banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 79,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hell_On_Training_Wheels/pseuds/Hell_On_Training_Wheels
Summary: MK11 Erron Black(s):  Thinking they can't kill each other, Past Erron will instead go after someone else to get under his older counterpart's skin.
Relationships: Erron Black X OC
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	1. Make a Little Money

* * *

**Mirror Match  
** **Chapter 1  
** _**Make a Little Money** _

* * *

Erron Black had quite a good reason for choosing to only live in the present, because when he finally got a peek at his future, he didn't like what he saw.

The younger gunslinger had been tracking his older self for quite some time now, mild curiosity taking over his usual indifference. Ever since he had been thrown into the future, the younger Black had been bombarded with accusations of how his older self was more benign—still morally obligated to himself— but a much better man than his youthful counterpart.

It irritated the shit out of him.

There was no doubt that the youthful visage thought of himself as the better version. Quicker, stronger and with a fresh mind not aged by past experiences to cloud his goals: to look out for only himself. The elder Black, from what he had gathered from gossip on the Z'unkahrah street, was that the former Kahn thought of him as a trusted ally. Even the now ex-emperor had told him underneath the Coliseum. He wasn't sure what to think of that at first, but the more he contemplated it, the less he enjoyed the revelation.

He still liked money from what he heard, and as he spied on his more aged-self from the blanketed shade of a nearby alley, the younger Erron saw they still shared the same aspirations towards another of their favorite vices that no space of time could take away. They still harbored the same stamina for chasing women. But that was where their similarities appeared to end.

The younger Black liked danger.

Coveted for adrenaline.

 _Embraced_ the thrill.

The young cowboy let out a breathy exhale; one akin to a derisive chuckle.

Wanted to _fuck_ it to prove he was stronger. He was the survivor, no matter how much his life was at risk. Being inside a woman that could easily slit his throat at any moment, was both gratifying and nerve-wracking. However, as he surveyed the woman that his older self was talking to, he couldn't understand what it was about her that brought any of the same specific thrill.

The dark-haired woman leaning in the doorway of her abode wasn't usually the type they sought after. Though gorgeous, she didn't fit the dangerous caliber he was looking for. Evidently, this didn't seem to bother his older self, for this was not the first time he had tracked the older Black to this woman's door. Perhaps their preferences had changed over the years and the thought shot a dose of bitterness through him. Why did they need to change? Was there no thrill enough for him anymore? That theory was bullshit. There was _always_ thrill in dealing with dangerous women, and he doubted the older Black would have shot down the opinion as well. They still loved it no matter how much time passed between them.

So why her? What made her so special?

The only thing that the younger Erron could think of was it was simply her looks. He rubbed the outside of his nose with the pad of his thumb, his eyes acutely drifting over every curve and piece of her. From her admirable features, to her completely fuckable, perfect body; complimented by golden sun-kissed skin that poked out of the openings of her burgundy dress. Not a risqué Outworld choice of fashion, quite modest in fact, but there was just enough cleavage, and enough leg that teased through the slits that would entice any man to want to see more. She wasn't a prostitute from what he gathered, and despite being only in this future of Outworld for a short time, recognized the lettering on the sign over the door as one of a healer's den. But from where he stood, it didn't seem his older mirror reflection came to her door to get patched up with band-aids.

The woman flipped her dark chestnut hair over her shoulder as her almond shaped eyes twinkled with flirtatious mischievous at his elder self, the same one that draped his arm over the top of her doorway. Though Erron couldn't hear them, she chuckled lightly as he rained her with honeyed words; clearly evident by his boyish smirk that formed after the conclusion of his phrase. The woman's brown eyes crinkled as a smile adorned her face; clearly enjoying what he had to say. Her head tilted to the side at him, a smirk on her face as she returned his banter with a quip of her own.

Despite the noise of the marketplace, he could still hear the laugh come from his other self, drifting across the road to him. The older Black suddenly stepped forward, the arm that had been resting above her on the doorframe, came down to pinch a strand of hair between his fingertips; the outside of his hand resting against the swell of her breast where the end of her hair just happened to stop. The woman sucked in a breath but flashed him a mocking smile at his non-too-subtle contact. His hand eventually left and grasped softly at her chin to tilt it towards his mouth. However, she stopped him by placing a single finger to his lips, before whispering something the older gunslinger found excruciatingly enticing; his body rose with a curt inhale of breath at whatever sweet promise she had uttered.

The younger Erron couldn't help but wonder what it was; unable to get a clear view of their lips to read them as passer-bys continued to block his view. He could have sworn he saw the woman's eyes dart his direction for the briefest of seconds, as if she had finally spotted him. But the young mercenary doubted she did— he had been careful to make sure that they didn't know he was tailing them. As if he didn't exist at all.

He sucked his teeth from behind his facemask. It sat a bit rotten with him that the older Black hadn't cared to come after him; he was expecting some attempt. The man seemed more indifferent than he was, almost as if his younger self wasn't even worth the effort. It didn't sit well with him thinking that. That he was nothing to worry about—he should be _very_ worried what his younger self would do. He wasn't dirt underneath the older man's shoe, and he wanted to prove it.

For a moment, he wondered if he should just reveal himself now. Letting them in that he knew all about their clandestine little affair. But somehow, the thought of marching up to them just seemed to brusque, almost too banal in its own ironic way. Also, he knew that was what the older Black would expect of him. He wanted to catch him off guard if he could, which was difficult when his opponent knew how he operated.

Erron did want to have fun though, get under his older counterpart's skin in the worst way. Despite that he couldn't kill him— in doing so, committing suicide on himself and erasing both of them from history –the enticement of the thrill was almost too much to pass up. The Black Dragon gunman also knew his other self knew that as well. So, the thought of ruffling his feathers, and knowing he couldn't do anything about it, seemed even better than just putting a bullet in his head. But how to go about it, exactly?

Young Erron scratched the side of his chin with the pad of his thumb as he eyed the woman— the older Black's woman—as she finally pulled the elder gunslinger by the collar of his shirt; her eyes clouded over with impatient fervor. Black grinned at her as he let her reel him inside. His hand snaked into her hair, tugging back her head so he could finally kiss her before he kicked the door of her home close with the flick of his boot.

The other Black felt himself press his lips together from behind the leather face mask as he watched the door shut; knowing perfectly well what they were going to do next, and for the briefest of moments, he was actually kind of jealous of his older self.

The younger Black's rendezvous with women had been rather sporadic even if they were frequent as of late. He was handsome and knew it quite well, and he had no problems finding women to ride him.

However, there was something about their camaraderie, even if it was just a silent stage play, that made a rock of jealousy sit heavy in his gut. Besides a few women, he had no playful intimacy with them besides when he wasn't flirting his way to get between their skirts. There was a different breed of conviviality between them, something that went beyond just day-time hookups.

The only word he could think of to file it under was history. They had history, and therefore, amity. Even if they were at the basic level nothing more than friends with benefits. The younger Black doubted there was any love besides that; he was still a friendless wanderer in the future.

But the older Black cared _enough_ for her that it would hurt him enough if something happened. Something that would hurt his ego better than any bullet could.

The young Erron Black smiled darkly from behind his face mask, his eyes narrowed on the door as a malignant and rich idea wormed into his mind.

He bit down on his lip, a sardonic chuckle ghosting softly from his lips as his eyes twinkled.

The younger cowboy finally departed, his hand drifting down between his legs to adjust himself more comfortably as he stalked away with the knowledge of how to get back at his future self.

* * *

The older Erron groaned underneath the delightful pressure of the woman's hands massaging a particularly resilient knot along his shoulder. Mera, sat on top of him, and kneaded away; a small smile etched on her face in satisfaction to his reaction. With only the nearby window to provide light to the relatively mundane furnished room, the only thing of intricate nature a table by the window that had various herbs and healing ointments, she watched passively as his muscles flexed under her fingertips in the shadowed afternoon; all the other lights had gone out as soon as he entered her room. She smiled from on top of him, remembering her joke to him in the doorway that despite his back was in pain, there was a more _pressing_ pain that he wanted addressing first. It seemed to be the only thing on his mind, even when he first stepped foot in her door for his back, but she made him earn it— made him work for his prize, though she found him handsome enough to fuck the first time. After a month of constant flirting— between both of them— subtle accidental touches and her trying to reiterate she was not that _type_ of healer, did she finally take him to bed. There was no attachment beyond that they enjoyed each other's company—no love— simply good business and pleasure.

Mera sighed on top of him, feeling warmth spreading across her face and making her blush as her eyes landed on his hat hanging off the bedpost.

Real _good_ pleasure.

After their bout of always enjoyable fucking, she straddled his naked back, attending to his other need for seeing her, and neither one of them dressing knowing that it would only be a matter of time before they would need to shed their clothes again. The Outworld woman bit her lip, her palms running down the length of his spine, as she felt the remnants of their lovemaking still ache slightly inside of her. He had been rough, not that she was complaining; she had often enjoyed his aggression, but she knew it was due in part of something else being on his mind. Even sex and her hands didn't seem to offer an adequate distraction, and she heard him sigh into the blankets beneath him. The gunslinger was certainly more pent up, evident by the more accumulation of knots in his back, and she didn't need to guess or ask him as to why.

"Your younger self has been watching us again," Mera voiced, finally addressing what was clearly on both of their minds. Black rose an eyebrow at her, looking over his shoulder.

"I've seen him," he acknowledged cheerlessly.

"Are you worried?" she questioned, rubbing away at a particularly hard knot in his trapezius.

Erron scoffed. "I ain't— _ughh_ —" he moaned hoarsely as the patch of muscle released gradually but painfully under the hard circling of her trained thumb, "ain't worried."

"Your body says otherwise," she argued lightly, her left thumb moving to the other side of his back to massage the cord of muscle above his collar bone. The bounty hunter shuddered; his neck rolling in a half circle, keening at her attention, before placing the side of his head back into the cradle of the akimbo arm and the now flat pillow.

"Can't do nothin'," Black assured passively. "Not without wiping both of us from history."

She ' _hmmed_ ' softly above him, moving her thumb to run her fingers softly down the length of his spine. Her nails scratched lightly, almost ghostlike, and he arched into her digits from underneath. Mera continued in repetition; each pass up and down his back growing sharper as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. It wasn't until he let out a small hiss, did she realize that she had scratched too deep; a cayenne-colored trail of three lines now going down his skin.

"Somethin' bothering you?" he queried with droll sarcasm; knowing the answer.

The Outworld healer exhaled through her nostrils, her eyebrows bridged in a hard line. "I don't trust him."

"You'd be a damn fool if you did," Black agreed. "Not even sure trustin' _me_ is good for you."

She licked her bottom lip with nervousness. "I don't like the way he looks at me," she confessed.

Erron paused beneath her, not saying anything, and instead rolled over to face her. She shifted slightly, allowing him enough space to flip over, before repositioning herself back on his lap; the dark blanket separating their hips the only thin barrier between them for the moment. A small tug out of the corner of his mouth flickered at her briefly.

"I'd take it as a compliment if I were you," he suggested with a blasé tone.

"A compliment?" she echoed back with strife.

He nodded.

Mera let out a scoff, "You both are that intuitive with each other despite not meeting yet?"

Black let out a breathy low laugh as he shrugged a single shoulder, "Don't need to. I already _know_ what he's thinkin'."

A dubious eyebrow quirked at his glossy words; his inclination noticed easily. "And what's that?"

A callow smirk from him provided her his subtle answer at the same time he flicked his eyes to her breasts and then back to her, lifting his eyebrows curtly at her. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to convince her even if she did let out a breathy chuckle.

"Will he try and kill me?" she suddenly asked, her face set into a stoic frown.

He shook his head lightly. "No darlin'. He wants to get under my skin— in the same _way_ I like to get under yours. If you get my meanin'."

The woman let out a bark of light laughter, her body shaking on top of his producing a slight response from him; he shifted his hips under hers, and she could feel him grow hard already. The woman couldn't help but roll her eyes playfully at him; he always recovered quick for round two, and she was never sure if it had anything to do with him or Shang Tsung's magic.

She leaned forward on to him, bringing her naked chest to rest over his. An affectionate rumble came from him, barely audible within the subtle arch of his chest to hers, but it still caught her ears and she smiled placidly at him. With a hand tracing lazily over his collarbone with fingertips, Mera mused: "So, nothing but boys with toys, then?"

His hands came up to rest on the outside of her hips, massaging the skin beneath his calloused palms. "Don't worry. He ain't _touching_ my toys."

She grinned toothily, a devious twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Erron. How were you in bed in your youth?" she teased.

He growled at her, though she still saw the glint of amusement from her flirtatious witticism before he grabbed her and flipped her beneath him on the bed. He pinned her with his weight, his hips pressed tight between the space between her thighs. His hand braced against the top of her forehead; forcing her head back to expose her neck to him. He dipped towards her, his lips ghosting over the column of her throat before he trailed his lips up. "Not nice," he chuckled darkly into her ear.

Mera breathed deeply underneath him as he kissed along her neck; unable to decipher if he meant she was not nice with her choice of words, or he didn't play _nice_ in his youth.

"So which is it?" she questioned, a hint of humor still in her expelled words. His hand trailed through her dark hair, his fingers threading pleasantly through her scalp and distracting her for a moment. "Did what I say anger you, or did you not play _nice_ with women? How rough were you?"

His lips left her neck to stare with cobalt devilment in his eyes down at her before he grabbed her bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a quick hard nibble that earned a small whimper from her, before he dragged it slowly until it fell from his mouth. "As _rough_ as they like it." He smirked and she felt his cock twitch against her through the sheet.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "So there's really no difference between you two, then? How will I tell you two apart if he saunters on in here?"

"Well for one," Erron began, grinding his erection against her, before he returned his lips to the crook of her neck. "He won't be waitin' a month. I had no patience to get goin'—once I got them properly warmed up."

She shuddered under him, her hips rolling up against his, and smiling when it earned a low grunt from him. "Even less patience than you have now?" she pointed out playfully, although the words left softer and more breathless from her lips than had been attended.

Black let out a _'hmpf'_ into her neck, his breath hot along her pulse as he alternated from nipping and licking between kisses. "Learned to savor the moment. After all…I got all the time in the world."

Mera shivered at his breath along her skin as his cock pressed hard against the blanket and against her already wet cunt, but to the best of her will power, kept to the subject even though she had enough to adequately distract her.

"Well… I do not have the same immunity as you do, Erron. So, please tell me you have a solution?"

Black suddenly slumped against her, his head still in the junction of her shoulder, and dejected that she hadn't dropped it; it almost made her laugh, especially with what he grumbled into her ear with irritation. "You're killin' me, woman."

The healer gave an indifferent shrug of her free shoulder, as she ran her hand through his hair, earning a quiet groan from him as she scratched his scalp. "Then tell me quickly before the mood is gone … as well as your patience to _warm_ me up."

He let out another deep sigh, causing him to press into her more. Despite the dour subject, she bit her lip to keep a moan from escaping her of all his weight pressed on her. Wonderfully crushing her to the bed. As much as she liked being in control of him, on top of him and riding him, she also enjoyed him on top of her; his heavy, strong form engulfing her and pinning her to the bed. The woman ran her nails again along his spine, eliciting a silent shiver from him. It didn't matter in her mind what position she was in, she always knew which triggers gave her control over him, no matter if she was on top or bottom. Knowing him, he was the same way; both having unspoken knowledge of how to elicit pleasure from each other.

"I do have an idea," Erron finally admitted. His face lifted from her shoulder and he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "Don't know how much _you_ are gonna like it."

Mera narrowed her eyes in confusion at him. "What're you…?"

The words stopped, as soon as he looked pointedly over at her bedside table and at the piece of papyrus that sat there always— one that was also funny enough, next to her personal pane of glass that served as a small vanity mirror. He nodded to it and then back to her, as if the idea was written on his forehead. It took Mera a moment, and she had to look from him to the picture and back again.

The woman nodded minutely, finally understanding his plan, before she gave him a playful frown. "You will owe _me_ , quite a lot to say yes," Mera told him, her tone business-like.

The mercenary let out a breathy chuckle; knowing fully well that whatever he was getting into, he would still enjoy. "Well, name _your_ price, sweetheart."

The woman sighed, shrinking her head into the pillows, as she mulled over the possibilities that could serve as payment. What to charge him, though? It was quite an irony to have a bounty hunter on the other side of the coin— to have _him_ indebted to pay for services. It was too much of a temptation to pass up, especially since it would be her in control of what terms she set. Mera recalled his words from earlier, and she smiled at him, grasping his chin lightly by her fingers. Black allowed her to pull her towards him and she heard him exhale against her lips as she brushed them against his, tantalizingly slow and with only the faintest bit of skin, that it felt like wind. Her brown eyes found his, and while maintaining contact, she relayed her conditions, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Give me an example of how you like to… _savor_ the moment, Erron."

The gunslinger grinned at her demands, beaming his teeth at her like a wolf, and finding her conditions more than acceptable. "If that's what the lady demands, then that's what the lady gets," he sardonically chuckled. He leaned his head forward, returning to her neck, and whispering in a velvet baritone in her ear: "Although, you might start _begging_ me to quit savoring and cut to the good part. Let's see how long you can hold out, sugar."

Mera had something snarky she had prepared to say, but it was abruptly erased from her mind when his hand came up to grope one of her breasts, at the same time he steadily began to grind his hips against hers. He lowered his weight on her, pressing down on her fully, and it was as deliriously satisfying as his hand on her breast, his fingers twisting and kneading with expertise he had developed over his unusually long lifespan.

Such knowledge of how many women he had bedded over the years would have been a deterrent for her, but the pernicious thought had been cast out the moment she did finally give in to his damn flirting and his charming rugged looks. He was well practiced—knew precisely what he was doing. His skills in the bedroom as honed in as his ability with his firearms, and considering she was not one to judge, it had been welcomed. She didn't care about the others, just like he didn't care about hers, and they didn't ask each other; both of them knowing the number made no difference to the here and now.

His mouth moved to hers and the woman met him as eagerly. She whimpered into his mouth the same time his other hand pulled the sheet away covering them. He pressed against her, now free of the barrier— both now completely skin to skin. He rocked against her, but did not enter her, and she moaned in his mouth as his length rubbed against her, moving methodically and hard against her cunt, while he continued to pry moans and whimpers from her.

It was maddening, almost to the point of insanity how much control he had. All it would take to enter her, would be just the wrong shift of his hips, the incorrect moment that she rocked her hips against his, and he would easily be inside her despite his cock took some adjustment. However, he knew what he was doing, and loved every bit of how eagerly she moved under him, rocking her own pelvis against his as he grinded his shaft with bruising but sublime pressure against her. It was almost as good as his mouth and tongue. Black made a sound, low and delicious in his throat, and the moment it hit her ears made her return a muffled moan back.

He stole the breath from her, kissing and probing into her mouth that she gave all the access he wanted; fuck, she didn't want to breathe if it meant that he would have to leave her mouth. Black pinched a nipple between his fingers, and she jerked towards his hand and gave a small cry into his mouth. Erron smiled against her lips again, enjoying his obvious dominance, and she bit his bottom lip in retaliation for his ego.

He hissed, lifting his head from her, as his tongue darted out to taste the red sliver of blood that had appeared, before he narrowed his eyes in playful contempt at her. She bit her own bottom lip, lifting her chin minutely in defiance at him, before she watched as he raised his thumb to her lips, and pressed it against her mouth.

"Open" came his lowly uttered command and she obeyed it almost immediately, letting his thumb sink inside of her mouth. She sucked on it, gliding her tongue over his thumb, and coating it in her saliva as she bit her teeth on his nail and the pad, pulling it before sucking his thumb back into her mouth. His eyes clouded over watching her and she returned his heated stare, moaning around his thumb as she sucked and felt his cock twitch against the junction between her legs. The gunslinger pulled his thumb from her, and she released it with a purposeful 'pop' before she gave him a carnal smile.

Her head threw back into the bed, arching into his hand, as he used the same wet thumb now coated in her spit to circle her nipple hard with his thumb; the wet digit adding another level of unexpected cooling pleasure on her hot skin. He pulled and teased, the rest of his fingers holding the side of her breast that pressed lazily, as he simply watched her reaction.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she savored the alternating feather and hard presses of the pad of his thumb against her. She moaned when his mouth came to latch on to the opposite breast, sucking on her tit as hard as his fingers twisting her other nipple. Her hands landed into his scalp, her fingernails running into his brown hair, as he dragged her peaked tip through his teeth. Mera rolled her eyes into the back of her head, the erotic image one to keep preserved in her mind for later when she needed something to imagine with her fingers between her legs after he left.

Her heels dug into the mattress as her knees pressed into his sides tighter, causing him to glide of the underside of his shaft through her cunt. The dizzyingly amazing pressure of his rock-hard cock pressing into her soaked slit while his hand and mouth toyed and pulled at her chest caused her to shiver out a loud moan, although hating/loving that what was considered simple foreplay for him was enough to make her come unwind already. Mera could feel his eyes on her, and she opened them halfway to stare down at him, still attached to her tit, as his eyes darkened with salacious enjoyment at her flushed dishevelment, and pulled her breast from his mouth with a loud, sinfully audible wet suck.

The corner of his mouth pulled up with a lewd grin, already making his way down her body, and unfortunately removing his cock from her in the process as he went lower; she bit her lip to keep herself from whining in disappointment.

He kissed along her stomach, one of his hands coming under to snake his fingers along the outside of her thigh, while the other one pressed into the skin of her inner thigh. She opened as he pushed her thighs apart, her breathing quickening as she watched his mouth get closer to where she craved the most attention. Mera grabbed her breast, grasping at her own flesh as her body shivered at his face between her legs, although he teased with pecks from his lips on her inner thighs. Inch-worming his kisses closer and closer to where she screamed and was soaked with need.

But the silver-tongued bastard was taking his time, and she knew he was doing it purposefully, when she caught him lifting a half-pulled grin at her as his blue eyes darkened at her with arduous taunting. He got closer to her dripping cunt, so much so that she shuddered as his hot breath fluttered over it. She pushed her hips towards his face, trying to get him to connect…

…but he pulled away quickly, laying another lazy kiss to the inside of her right thigh.

Mera gritted her teeth at him, groaning with frustration as her head pushed down on the pillow while her hand tightened hard around her breast. She was going to kill him. Slowly and brutally _kill_ him soon if he didn't stop showing such infuriating and ungodly patience. She knew why he was doing it: he wanted her to beg for it. But Mera wouldn't give the smug bastard the satisfaction; she could be patient too… _maybe_.

She exhaled heatedly through her nostrils, her mouth pressed into a tight line, as her chest rose up and down; trying her best to maintain the last shred of sanity she possessed that his mouth was threatening to take away.

The woman let out a choked gasp into the ceiling, her mouth open, when she suddenly felt his thumb run through her pussy; pushing and circling into her. Her hand tightened over her nipple, twisting it as she preened at his hand on her finally, rubbing his finger into the bundle of nerves with hard circles. After a few tantalizing moments of him simply using his thumb, she felt him sink his finger into her and _curl_ it as if he was pulling the trigger on one of his guns.

She sobbed into the air, the hand on her breast leaving to ravel and tug into her own hair. She whimpered, fucking herself with it after he entered a second finger, and while she felt the muscles in her stomach start to coil. His speed picked up, his thumb returning back to her clit as she removed her hand from her hair and pulled at the pillow underneath her; spiraling the cushion in her palm and nearly ripping it when she felt herself growing close… she was almost there…

He came to a slow when he noticed her reaching a peak, and she glared down at him, silently reprimanding him for stopping since she was too breathless to form any words, before she watched him slip his fingers into his mouth and suck them; being as purposefully loud and wicked as he could be. The gunslinger smirked knowingly at her, aware of what he had denied her, and she shot him with a look of contempt.

"Bastard…" was all she could come up with.

His hands wrapped around the outside of her thighs as she looked at him through half-closed eyes while she continued to catch her breath.

"Had enough?" he asked with dark hubris at her flustered condition.

She huffed. "H-have... have y-you?"

The mercenary gave a snort at her; his eyes darting from her to what was between her legs waiting for him. "I've barely made a deposit, doll."

Mera's chest rose from the bed, as if yanked on by a string, the moment his mouth contacted her cunt; making the muscles in her stomach constrict painfully enough that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. Her hand shot to his hair, alternating pulling and pushing at his scalp as he groaned into her; his hands like steel on her thighs keeping them open no matter how much she shivered and writhed beneath him.

Black never went down on her, she had only recalled once when he tried but opted for something else, though she suspected it wasn't because he didn't enjoy it. She had always concluded he thought it to be too intimate— he was used to whores— and it was not something that was a part of what he deemed acceptable to do with them. Perhaps he only reserved it for someone he liked enough. He was still a selfish man, taking whatever he needed and only gave so he could receive something as good in return. It didn't upset her, Mera knew what their relationship was, but she still couldn't be a little bit mad at him for denying her something so good for so long. His mouth on her cunt was by far better than having him just kiss her— though both were just as equally good in their own ways—and he applied just as much skill as his tongue prodded and licked, making her quiver with each measured flick and swipe.

She caught a glimpse of him, his eyes closed as he breathed through his nose, not willing to detach what was obviously something enjoyable for him as well; his tongue mopping up every wanton moan and whine that spilled from her lips as he sucked obscenely and noisily on her. He opened his lids, his blue eyes fogged over at her with barely restrained desire. He loved the taste just as much as she loved watching him feast on what she gave him without mercy; taking his own pleasure in it as well.

She saw the corner of his eyes crinkle before he closed them tight— just as tight as her hand in his hair. She heard him let out a stuttering groan as she tugged hard at his scalp and it sent another ripple of want through her while he picked up speed.

Fuck, she could stay like this for days; it was nothing short of nirvana, but Mera knew she didn't have much longer to last as a finger entered her along with his tongue; causing her chest to rise towards the ceiling as she moaned. He licked a slow stripe with his tongue upwards and she whimpered pitifully as she felt tension in her stomach build up; leaving the muscles in her body numb to do nothing but hang on with her hand in his hair. Mera felt inviting, agonizing _blissful_ pressure in her stomach start pulling back like a slingshot preparing to fire… further back… and back… and _back_... until there was no more slack and the only thing to do was release… fuck she was close…

Mera let out an angry caterwaul, one akin to a frustrated, broken sob when he pulled away; denying her once again of a proper fucking climax. Erron climbed over her, placing himself back between her legs with an impossibly hard cock pressed against her; threatening to be slipped and pulled inside by just the unseemly amount of wetness from his mouth and her cunt. However, she ignored his cock, too aggravated with him as she stayed still beneath him; glowering up as her stolen breath returned and became heated with annoyance at him. Black simply chuckled darkly, his hand coming up to wipe over his wet stubble and mouth.

"Not... _nice._.." she scolded, her words nothing more than angry gasps for air.

"Told you I wasn't," he reminded before he raised a haughty eyebrow at her. "Ready to beg?"

"Burn in the Neatherrea—"

The words cut off from her, sucked into his mouth when he lowered it to her lips, dancing them harshly and bruising against her. She moaned and returned his kiss back despite her anger. Mera could taste herself on him, and the mixture of his lips, ones that usually tasted of Earthrealm whiskey, combined with her own flavor, was nothing short of a delicious cocktail traveling from her mouth to pool with pleasurable warmth into the pit of her stomach. It made her delirious once again; letting her forgive him for the moment— just for a moment.

"Y-you…" she began, her words interrupted between sloppy and heated kisses between them. "Are… an…i-insuffrable… wretch."

He pulled back, the tips of their noses just brushing against each other, before he gave her a conceited stare; his ego inflating at her less-than-passioned words as she remained incapacitated beneath him; her eyes clouded over through half-open lids as her chest rocked up and down as if she was drowning for air. He hadn't even made her come yet, yet still her limbs were spent. The overbearing need to claim her prize and being denied it when it was just inches away, made her exhausted and _begging_ for reprieve, and she could tell he fucking loved it. She knew he was aware that she had no more patience for his unbearable _torment,_ leaving her delightfully frustrated beneath him. It was a silent victory, one that he knew she didn't even have the strength to admit he had won, but was as loud and clear between the both of them. The gunslinger smiled proudly before he rested his head to her shoulder and raveled his fingers through her messy hair.

“You like it," his husky deride breathed into her ear before he rolled his hips and finally buried himself inside her. She let out a strangled sob into the crook of his neck, muffling her loud cry into the naked skin of his shoulder as he pulled and pushed his hips into her, spreading and helping her adjust, despite the easy entrance her slick and his mouth had provided. Her nails dug into the back of his skin, his weight leaving her unable to move and at his mercy as he groaned heavily, his own body shuddering, as he bit his teeth into her neck and hilted himself fully inside her. Mera whined, shifting underneath him as a reminder of their first bout of lovemaking came back to her, the pain both burning yet welcomed.

Erron waited, allowing her to adjust, before he felt her wrap her legs around him; giving him permission to proceed. Black started slow and sharp; pulling back and sliding through her warmth with an agonizing lagged pace before he slammed curtly into her, earning a feminine grunt from her each time he hit back inside. He lifted himself, bracing his weight on his palms, as he continued his thrusts while watching her enthralled expression beneath him; drinking in every extravagant moan that escaped from her gently parted lips as his own groans mingled like smoke in the air with hers.

Mera opened her eyes for a moment, gazing up at him and slanted them at his arrogant mirth. "D-don't… don't you s-smirk at me…you egotist."

The side of his mouth curled up at her playful, _airy_ banter, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, encircling his arms under her and drove down the middle— _hard_. Stars shot across her vision; her eyes closed as they exploded against an obsidian sky behind her eyelids at the same time a strangled shout escaped from her throat.

Black didn't relent and kept the same devastatingly solid and brutally heavenly pace. He gritted air through his teeth, his forehead resting on her collarbone as he pounded from the head to the hilt inside her. She would have screamed if the air needed to produce the sound was capable of entering her lungs— but each attempt to collect it was robbed by him; pulled out of her lungs each time he buried himself and kindled wildfire inside with every intoxicating stroke.

Her nails dug into his back the same time she felt his blunt ones press into her hard and she copied him; grinding and writhing under him as he took the lead and she matched him. He rasped out a strained demand; his voice sounding like it had been grated by sandpaper on the way out: "Fuck… fuckin' say it… and I'll give it to you… let you—fuck— have it—"

Mera's mind was incoherent, she barely heard his words at first as her focus was only on the excruciatingly, fucking _amazing_ , debilitating spark that was growing inside of her loins. Her eyes shut, her cries turning into labored whimpers as her nails dug into him and her thighs tightened around his waist, securing him to her. He was close too, she could tell: his thrusts picked up speed but never lost strength as he hammered into her hips; his voice constricted and limited to grunts and groans as he continued to fuck her to the now rattling bed. By the Gods, she had been wrong when she thought their first quick rendezvous was rough before. There was no way she was walking straight by the time he was done…and she moaned at the thought of it.

Erron cursed at her through his teeth, growing impatient, as he slurred his words as if he couldn't breathe either. "L-let me... _fuck_... let me hear it, darlin'."

His tight voiced words finally burned a hole through her resolve and her eyes closed as she felt her pleasure at the brim— begging to be released and spilled. She couldn't restrain herself, forgoing the game that had been started between them, and only contemplating on the promise of the glorious fucking resolution that she wanted more than any monetary treasure. She was ready to collect, even if it meant paying his simple toll.

"Please-please-please-" Mera mumbled, her words tapering off into incoherent breathless rambles before everything below her waist locked down and she came hard on his cock, as if her own body wasn't willing to delay another second withholding its desired demand once his own was met. She faintly heard him seethe out a low 'shit’ garbled from his throat, as her cunt clamped tight around him like a vice. She was elsewhere, her breasts arched against the hard planes of his chest and her nails breaking through the skin on his back, as he continued to ride her through the high of her aftershocks. She registered two or three strokes before he was following behind her, spilling inside her as he slumped and jerked against her as he began to collect his own breath, spent as well.

They stayed there for countless moments, both of them spiraling incognizant and satiated through the soporific highs of their aftermath. They didn't move, both of them limbless and numb as they breathed against each other. It was only when she couldn't breathe, his dead weight on her lungs finally reaching its limitations, did she signal him to roll off. He lolled off to the side, pulling himself from her and earning a pained whimper as he slid out. Dull pain settled in her lap, and she grimaced, but didn't mind; it was worth it. What was pain without pleasure?

Both of them didn't look at each other; laying contented and placid on the bed as the afternoon sun blazed on their sweaty and heated skin. She closed her eyes, her hands resting on her stomach as she felt the remnants of him start to seep out of her. But she didn't move just yet, delaying cleaning herself up, until the feeling returned to her legs.

Mera felt the pillow shift next to her, knowing he was looking at her and then back to the ceiling. The woman shook her head as a brief smile flickered on her face, remembering something that had been forgotten but usually accompanied them in their erotic thralls.

"You forgot the hat this time, Erron."

Black laughed softly at her joke. "I _never_ forget the hat. Only need it when your on top—you'll crinkle it otherwise."

She sighed admittingly. "A good point I suppose."

The mercenary slowly rolled to his side as his hand reached across from her and grabbed his hat from the bedpost before donning it on his head. His hand came to her cheek, his thumb brushing over the line of her cheekbone as she leaned into it. A pleased hum issued from her throat at his rough fingers on her tanned, freckled skin. He kissed her, his tongue probing the hot cavern of her mouth, and she moaned into it, adequately distracted enough that she didn't notice he reached over to her bedside table and pluck the parchment from it; stealing it from its always present spot on the table.

She jerked, her eyes shooting open, as he pulled away and kept it out of her reach. It was precious to her and he knew it, but he didn't give it back, even as she lifted up to pry it from his hand. He simply braced his weight on one arm, the other one far out of reach from her as he held it over his head and grinned in amusement at her efforts to get it.

"I'll be needin' you to _forget_ about this for a moment too. Gonna need it for past me," he informed casually, waving the piece of paper lightly like a conquered flag.

Mera furrowed her brow at him, pressing it into a hard line as she leaned for it the best as she could, his form blocking and limiting her efforts to stunted movements. "That is not funny. It is all I have—"

He interrupted her by grabbing her chin and kissing her roughly before he pulled away. "You'll get it back," he promised, although his jesting tone didn't do much to convince her.

She huffed indignantly at him, the paper in his hand unattainable and feeling as if it was miles away. The woman scowled at him, mulling it over in her mind whether he would hold true to his word. She didn't trust him enough to have him hold on to something so near and dear to her heart. Something that was an heirloom and apart of her life for so long. Mera wasn't even sure why he needed it, even though she had a clear idea of the plan he had in mind for his younger self. Him having the picture hadn't been discussed, and it was the only bit that made her feel sour even if she did slightly trust him to keep his word. Mera needed something in return, something that was equal value that would tie him to his vow. She smirked as she eyed him…

"I _will_ get it back," she avowed with a boastful retort.

…and she knew just the thing…

She grabbed the hat from his head, Erron allowing her to do so as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"and only then, will you get _this_ back…" she finished as she plopped the cowboy's hat on her head. "Sound _fair_ , Mr. Black?"

Erron bit back a smile, an airy scoff barely audible through his closed lips as he looked from her to his hat on her head. He stared at her in silence, his eyes regarding her with amusement as he stared at the hat too large for her head that nearly covered her eyes. He nodded and relented, the side of his mouth pulling up at her before he offered his acceptance of her terms.

"Don’t wrinkle it."

* * *

 **A/N:** See you for part 2, hopefully you enjoyed it. Many thanks got to Royal Deluxe's 'Make a Little Money' for inspiring this odd little fic.

Leave kudos or a comment. Both are always appreciated.

And as always, see you next chapter.


	2. Wolf and Moth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This was meant to be shorter, and not two chapters, but writing this became as unstable as a theme park filled with dinosaurs. Enjoy :)

**Mirror Match  
** **Chapter 2  
** _**Wolf and Moth** _

* * *

Perhaps it was just poor circumstances, or a sick joke being played on him by a bored Elder God for some unknown transgression. Whichever the reason, the Outworld teenage street artist simply couldn't fathom why Erron Black was standing in front of him at his stall in the marketplace.

The young man gulped, his brown eyes bug-wide from beneath the long mop of dark hair covering his eyes, as he sunk into the small stool that served as his chair. He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that his fellow merchant venders in the nearby stalls along looked in his direction; wary yet unwilling to help. His fellow neighbors, ones that had been his friends for years, were nothing more than cowardly strangers as soon as the gunslinger appeared.

The sketch artist was on his own.

But what had he done that earned a visitation from the Kahn's guard? Had he drawn an ill-represented portrait of some aristocrat in a manner unfit? Had the Outworld teen looked in the mercenary's direction wrong just now? Although he hadn't even noticed the ex-Earthrealmer until he was standing behind his easel; the gunman's' form blocking out the sun and casting an ominous shadow upon the scrawny kid.

What in all the realms had he done to warrant his attention? Whatever it was, he was most certainly sorry, but his mouth just couldn't utter the words to let Black know.

He felt sweat already rolling down the back of his neck, meanwhile also knowing he was getting charcoal from his pen stained on his now sweaty palms. The willowy teen looked up at the mercenary and felt the legs of his stool sink into the sand the more he shrunk his weight down; the kid wanting to melt and vanish from the gunslinger's indescribable visage.

Black just stared at him, a single eyebrow raised, before it joined the other into a hard line; his demeanor easily recognized as impatient despite the concealment of expression the leather mask offered. "Don't ball up like a bug. I ain't here to kill you."

The teen let out an exhale, one too quick, when he felt the air choke him as he inhaled sharply when Erron Black leaned forward and added: "Unless you end up doin' a piss poor job, then I might change my mind."

The artist heard the door to his neighboring vender's house suddenly shut, the woman that sold silk shawls, retreating hastily into her house and leaving her items behind. He wished he had the same luxury to choose if he wanted to hide, but he was chained under the mercenary's grueling stoic countenance.

"W-what... what do you want?" the kid mumbled, the words leaving his mouth in a fearful blubbering. "I-I... haven't... I haven't done anything. H-Have I?"

The gunslinger's eyes narrowed at him. "If you had, I'd be draggin' you towards the palace face-first choking on sand, wouldn't I?"

The artist let out a heavy sigh; comforted slightly, but not at all at ease.

Erron Black stepped forward, pulling something from his back pocket and handed it to him over the easel. The teen hesitantly reached for it, his fingers trembling, before he grabbed the folded parchment from the mercenary's hand.

"Need somethin' identical to that _—_ " he informed sternly before he raised a single finger at him in warning _—_ "but don't be doodling on it. Needs to be the same way I leave it when I get back, or else you won't be the same way I first found you."

The teen nodded, looking down at the picture drawn on the weathered papyrus. "You... you just want me to make a copy of this?"

"The word _identical_ not registerin' with you?" he questioned with blunt exasperation. "Yes, a _copy._ I want a goddamn mirror image of it. Now can you do it or do I gotta find someone else to scribble it out?"

The Outworld youth lowered his head, feeling stupid as the man's words crushed his self-esteem. "No... I can do it," he consented with a dejected murmur. "When would you like this?"

With the clear irritation the marksman felt towards him, it surprised the teenager when he suddenly flung a gold coin at him, shooting it towards him with the quick upward flick of his thumb. The coin spun in the air, enough for it to produce a ringing chime, as the boy fumbled to catch it. Miraculously he did, almost dropping the paper in the process.

The Outworlder investigated his hand, the gold shining and warming in his palm like a droplet from the sun as he smiled. It was his first gold coin for some time and worth more than what he charged for a simple drawing. He wondered if the mercenary even knew what he charged, or if he was giving him a generous tip. Either way, he kept mute, and nodded his head at Black that he would take the job — not that the Kahn's guard was giving him much choice anyway.

"Be back before sundown," he informed, pivoting on his heel and departing. The gunslinger paused as he neared the stand with the shawls, his head turning as his eyes landed on a scarlet colored piece with gold embroidered swirling leaves stitched hanging from the rack nearest him. The teen noticed the corners of his eyes creased, as if the man was smiling at his own sudden idea, before his hand reached out and grabbed it. Pulling it from the stand and preparing to walk off with it.

"Hey!" the kid suddenly piped up, wishing he hadn't the moment the shout left him. Erron Black stopped and turned towards him, the man's blue eyes barbed with unimpressed annoyance at him.

He really wished he hadn't said anything, but the words still tumbled from his mouth.

"Are... are you gonna... p-pay for that?"

Black let out a scoff at him, his eyes glancing over to the stall, before back to the teen with a pointed look. "Ain't nobody around to pay. Unless _you_ wanna take their place?"

His head lowered towards him, his eyes dark. "In that case, I'll be takin' the picture back."

The teenager shrunk under the man's hidden yet indiscrete threat and shook his head immediately, his palms so sweaty they were as sheen-like as oil. His tongue refused to work, laying uselessly in his mouth, and long enough for the opportunity to offer a rebuttal had long since passed.

With no words uttered, Black took that as his cue to leave, but not without casting one-last hard glance at him and reminding sternly: "Sundown. Or there's no sunrise for you, kid."

* * *

The younger Black didn't make his move until sundown, which seemed appropriate considering the youthful gunslinger's rapacious-like desire was fixated on the goal he had set. He wanted to wait so he could slink from the shadows like a fox on the hunt and catch his unaware little rabbit off-guard.

In the meantime, he sat at the bar across the street from the shitty little bunny hole she called a house. Drinking and waiting for her to return.

As he sat at the table adjacent to the window that gave him the best view of her den, his gloved leather fingers traced the rim of the cup half-full of Outworld wine, contemplating and running sinful fantasies of what he would do or say once he got in her door. The Black Dragon mercenary spent most of the day mulling over many different salacious scenarios (each one more erotic than the next) with a semi-hard erection inside his pants. One hidden beneath the table of the musty, dim-lighted bar.

The other half of the day, he spent listening in for prospective clues that pertained to the future Black's bounties. Taking his money, besides fucking his woman, was another thing that he could do to get under his older self's skin. It ended up being fruitless, so Erron found himself listening in less and less to the drunken patrons and keeping his attention more towards the healer's door.

In between imaging himself inside of the healer, a thought had occurred to him as he sat in his chair, his table shadowed except for a single sliver of light that streaked in from the half-cracked shutter. It was nothing more than a fluttering curiosity, but as he drank, his thoughts became more reckless than rational.

He questioned the rules of time and which side of the hourglass he was on. Was he the top, flowing sand into the bottom, or was he the section collecting it? In his mind, he figured he was the top glass dome. Feeding years towards the elder Black with the sand representing experience and scars and all downpouring into the future.

Erron wondered what would happen if he simply plugged the narrow filter; choosing not to feed into the bottom dome and cut it off completely. Would it kill him? Kill them both? Or just do nothing? Was that what his elder self was trying to do all along? Staying away from him so they didn't end up killing each other? Or was there another reason?

The mercenary's eyes narrowed out the window. Picking a random door on the other side of the street just to have something to lock on to.

Was there something _else_ the older man didn't want the younger gunslinger to know? Something… that didn't bode well for the older doppelganger?

The gunfighter tapped a gloved finger against the wood of the table.

What really would happen if one side had all the sand, while the other half of the dome was broken?

He took a sip of the bitter Outworld wine, letting it shift around lightly in his mouth before swallowing it.

Honestly, he couldn't wrap his head around the time merger bullshit; the universal rules clandestine to him.

Besides, there was no use mulling over too long about something that wouldn't provide an answer anyway. Perhaps they were just stuck together in his senior counterpart's timeline with no choice on changing the matter.

Erron scowled while he looked down at his own reflection in the wine. Usually, he welcomed such unpredictability in this life, and Kronika choosing to throw him into the future was certainly an unforeseen one…

He took a quick and sharp gulp of his drink, his eyes narrowed.

Not this time.

He didn't ask to be taken against his say so and dumped decades later into the future— especially when things were just going the way he liked in the past. The young hired gun had become quite acquainted with the Black Dragon and they had filled his pocket quite well. He was adamantly comfortable and was just beginning to move on to bigger and better things and about to head into Outworld at his own pace…

The next thing he knew, he was in the Coliseum and deposited into a war— a war he ended up on the losing side of.

His gloved hand tightened around the outside of the goblet.

And Erron Black, Past or Future, didn't take to being on the losing side too fondly.

There was nothing left after the dust settled for him after Kronika's defeat. The Black Dragon was too discombobulated after Kano had died; with no leader it was a bit of a mess. He also had no patience or desire to remain in Earthrealm after that.

So, he simply went along with the next phase of his life— what he had been planning on doing anyway and vacationed to Outworld for new possibilities.

However, the plan he had in mind never included having to compete with his future, and aggravatingly more popular, self.

He did have respect seeing where his future led him: at the top of the food chain in the Kahn's court as a respected employee that got paid more than he ever did at the Black Dragon.

It was also something that would remain out of his reach.

Ironically, by him and _not_ by him.

It was enough to give him a headache, but what really pissed him off, was seeing just how well the future gunslinger had it. He lived in the palace, got a chance to go after the best bounties with readily available tools at his disposal, and it was his future self— not the younger one — who was both respected and feared in Outworld. While the younger Erron scavenged for jobs, the older one coveted the rewards he would never have hopes of getting.

The younger Erron Black, ever since he arrived in the capital city, was nothing more than a side-show oddity. Every fucking day he heard something demeaning.

" _I don't know. Are you as good as he is?"_

" _You don't look like you have as much experience as he does."_

" _What can you do? You're no Kahn's guard, yet."_

Everything that the younger gunslinger did — nearly everything— almost always came back to the subject of his older self, and he was sick of it. Ever since he arrived in Outworld, all he received were the table scraps of his future self.

The older Erron already had all the glory, the name, the respect, and there wasn't much left to claim for himself. He wasn't content with just breadcrumbs.

He jealously wanted what the older Black wanted — what he was supposed to have eventually if he had remained in the past and hadn't been picked by the Titan to participate on the losing side.

After months of being shunned in Outworld, he settled on a goal for himself: he would take what he could from his aged self and then slowly work his way up. Until it was eventually all his.

So, if he could take something— even something as meaningless as his whore —but would still hurt the future Erron Black, he'd do it. He was content on starting small for now and having a bit of fun. He had to admit she was attractive, even if she wasn't the dangerous breed he had a taste for. It didn't mean he disliked having regular women occasionally if they were worth his time. He had plenty of women. Past and present. Erron liked women, but the only difference was, he didn't fall in love with them like his older self seemed to do.

Somewhat relevant to the subject, his memory drifted back to Abilene, Kansas and to a feud he was too disinterested in his youth to pay attention to but found comparable now.

It had been between none other than his mentor, and once Union man, James 'Wild Bill' Hickok and the Rebel owner of the _Bulls Head Saloon_ , Phil Coe.

The immortal-esque cowboy chuckled lowly with fondness at the thought of the once Marshall of Abilene — the same one who taught him how to twirl pistols and how to make them sing. He had barely been a teen at the time when the long-haired sombrero wearing legend had taken a liking to him after Abraham, his surrogate father, had taken a badge to serve as one of his deputies.

Occasionally, in his adolescent youth, he'd walk into the _Bull's Head Saloon_ , trying to sneak whiskey with another secret mentor of his, John Wesley Hardin, under Abe's watchful eye. Hardin would give him whiskey under the table, while Erron listened to the wanted desperado talk about Texas in between both of them watching as all three men, Coe, Hickok and Abraham, fawned over the same woman that worked at the _Bull's Head_.

Erron smiled at the memory of her, remembering his own little crush on the dark-haired and eyed, Jesse Hazel. Everybody liked her, and if there was one woman that could stir them all up with contemptuous jealousy towards each other—especially when the woman liked to toy with their affections and rub it in the other's faces —it was Jesse.

Hickok had it the worst for her. The man's already respectable reputation before Abilene made for easy living for him, and he had enjoyed the hell out of the perks. So, he didn't particularly like that Coe was courting her as well— and the fact that she liked Coe more.

Boy could Hickok get jealous, and in a town whose residents and traveling cowpunchers were almost always filled up with whiskey, envy and alcohol were a troublesome mix. Everybody knew that besides women, playing jokes and poker, Bill loved his liquor, and that he wanted Jesse _bad_.

The Yankee never did like the Reb (for other than obvious reasons), and it was one of the many instances between them that grew further rancor between the two men that eventually led to a deadly altercation.

Jesse Hazel... she knew _exactly_ what she was doing. Stringing Bill along all the while she really loved Coe, and at the same time taking delight in watching two bulls tussle because of her.

Erron raised his goblet of wine, toasting to old ghosts for the idea, before he finally caught the flash of red he'd been waiting for. His older self's woman (he didn't know her name or really cared) dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, finally arrived back at her door. He sat there, electricity flaring across his nerves in anticipation, brought the cup of wine back to his lips with his eyes never leaving her.

He watched over the rim of the cup, her back still turned towards him, while she took out a key, unlocked the door and pushed herself into the house before closing it.

The bounty hunter licked his bottom lip, swirling the goblet absently. He was aware of two scenarios that could play out: one, understanding the older Black's habit of seeing her during the afternoon before going back to the palace, could very well walk in on them in the act. It brought an evil smirk to his face, and despite that he might catch them in the middle before he could finish, found himself liking it. He was always up for a good fist or gun fight, no matter how precarious.

The other was he would simply just fuck her brains out and let her tell the older gunslinger of their rendezvous. He clicked his tongue in mild disappointment. He would love to see the look on his older counterpart's face, getting as jealous as Hickock over Jesse. However, he knew he wouldn't get to revel in it when she told him the next time they hooked up.

It was too bad, especially knowing she'd prefer him in the end. There was no doubt about it. The younger gunfighter had stamina, more youthful handsome looks, and always left them satisfied. He doubted his older self — even if time slowed down his age — could offer the same after 150 years.

Another notable difference between them was he wasn't one for comraderies with his whores while the elder Black seemed to take up the habit now. Which was why he liked the idea of screwing his woman so much. It was an open target for him to shoot at. If the situation was anything like Coe/Hickock, he suspected his other half would sever ties with her after finding out who she truly fancied. Then he'd break her poor, little heart by never showing up again.

_Sorry darling. I don't stick to one skirt, no matter how nice it is._

Black finished his wine, looking over the rim of the goblet with a predatory blitheness towards her house.

_That will finally get your attention, now won't it, old man?_

Finally, Erron made his move; standing from the table before dropping a few bronze coins for the wine and nothing else as a tip for the shitty service. Then he was instantly making his way to the door of the bar.

His boots sunk into the sand the same time he adjusted his eyes to the setting sun that turned the sand on fire and made its glare blinding. The black and red-striped leather jacket he wore warmed instantly in the desert sun, and he felt the heat on his back as he finally came to stand in front of the door of the healer's home.

He contemplated for a fleeting second if he should knock on her door, knowing it was the first thing his elder self did, but then he remembered... he wasn't _old_ yet.

Black grabbed the handle, testing it to see if it was unlocked, and smiled faintly when it was.

He walked into the dimly lit and empty room, the only things there being an almost bare table and made bed, and something else he hadn't expected to stumble on.

Against the table, nothing set on it except for an oblong green glass jar, was his target leaning against the wooden edge with the shawl wrapped around her arms and crossed over her chest. Erron had run through every possible scenario in his head of their first meeting, based on what he had seen of her contemporary personality so far, and what he got from her certainly wasn't what he thought would happen when she saw him walk through the door.

He had suspected there would be some sort of look of contempt on her face (minus the shock he thought would accompany it) and it remained there fervently as he continued to stand in the doorway. Eventually, the tense silence passed. The derision tapered away from her face and was replaced with something much more ardent.

The Outworld healer's eyes traveled down his body, slowly taking note of every detail of his physique, and smiled with bawdy appreciation at him. She took a deep inhale of breath, her eyes half-hooded as she raked them over him, drinking in every small detail, before sliding them back up and flashing him with a carnivorous grin.

The corners of his mouth lifted up while his own eyes mirrored her previous once-over at him and traveled them over her body in turn.

Well, what do you know? She liked him already.

He smirked wider.

This was going to be easier than he thought.

He preened subtly with haughty pride at her, even though he could already tell that she knew it wasn't the elder Black she was used to. Knowledge of it, made his arrogance brim and spill to the top that she didn't even care and was even more _enamored_ by him—certainly more than what he saw between the couple yesterday. Her look towards him was much more lust-derived than anything she had flashed to his older self… and he grinned appreciatively at it.

She liked him more, _wanted_ him more, and he hadn't even done anything yet. It made his cock and ego swell— especially after what she said next.

"You _are_ more handsome," she observed, licking her painted lips, tinted rouge from lip-paint , while batting her eyelashes at him. "Less wrinkles, less scars… "— her dark kohl-lined eyes landed unabashedly at his pants — "hopefully the same cock if not _better_."

He would be lying if he said her brazen statement didn't perplex him despite he loved the honest carnality of it; only because it wasn't what he was expecting at all from her. Erron assumed she would to be more conservative. Unfortunately, the phrase just felt off coming from her, even if he was expecting what she said to come _later_ in the evening after he was done with her.

Black was also surprised by how _quickly_ she accepted him. He would have thought she'd be startled by his presence; unsure and jumpy at the sight of him before he'd charm her with candied but still empty words. He was good at having stubborn women change their minds with just flirty banter; it got the job done. But it didn't look like it was needed here. Not at all it seemed, albeit it still made him frown lightly when he realized why.

She already knew he was coming— she _had_ seen him yesterday. The bounty hunter hadn't been as stealthy as he thought. It was too bad, he had been hoping to play mind games with her a little, let her slowly figure out it wasn't his aged doppelganger, as a fun little prelude to the foreplay…

Her hand came up and she used her thumb to trace over the carnelian stone inside the gold medallion she was wearing. He followed her hand as it left to trace a single fingernail down… scratching lightly between her cleavage before she trailed it back up slowly to the necklace. She flashed her teeth at him, letting him know it was a purposeful, _enticing_ gesture for him…

Still, he couldn't be _too_ disappointed that he would be skipping over it.

"I don't think I need this," she said, and dropped the red shawl that had been hanging loosely off the bends of her elbows and around her back when he walked in. "Although if you want to use it later to tie my hands with, I wouldn't be opposed to you wrinkling it to do so. I don't care for it, anyway. My favorite color is blue."

Black rubbed his thumbnail under his chin, scratching a patch of stubble and biting back a smile at her. "I have to say… you're not at all what I was expectin'."

"Neither are you. A very _pleasant_ surprise. I'd thought you would be more like him," the woman's dark eyes smoldered at him from beneath her thick lashes as she gave him another once over. "I can already tell I'm going to like you better than your older self."

He grinned. "Is that right?"

She nodded her head, a sigh escaping her. "Though it is too bad I'm a bit sour with him. To have both of your cocks at once would have been fun…" — her eyes darkened at him as black and glossy as volcanic rock — "but I don't have any doubt you'll still make me cum as hard."

His eyebrows lifted instantly at her words; Erron interested and surprised at her, oh so not, conservative tongue.

The young gunfighter was wrong…

She was _much_ dirtier than he had pictured…

His gaze traveled over her red dress again and he felt his smile grow.

He liked it.

Erron breathed deeply through his nose, a subtle rising heat running through him at her unrepentant admission…

Goddamn… she made him fucking hard, already.

But despite her filthy mouth, he couldn't help but frown again… it just wasn't what he had imagined from her, and the revelation persisted like a gnat at him; small but existed enough to bother him.

Erron watched her play with the gold chain, her fingers running over the intersecting orange gemstones that ran along the yellow chain. For now, he pushed the thought aside.

"Unless, you have another miss stowed in the other room, then I might find another joinin' in agreeable to me. Otherwise, I don't cotton to sharin'," he enlightened back evenly.

He saw her shoulders move as a slight giggle ran through her. "Oh, I know, you're a _taker,_ honey. I could tell just by looking at you — even if you are just _taking_ your time standing in the doorway."

He swallowed and drawled with a grin. "I'm surprised my ominous presence darkening your doorstep didn't have you hollerin' for help. I'm guessin you figured I'd be showin’ up?"

She pulled her face into a faux-saddened look of pity at him. "Oh honey, if you wanted to hear me scream when you walked in the door, don't fret" — she jerked her head towards the only furniture in the room besides the table—"there's still _plenty_ of ways you can make me on the bed."

The gunslinger let out a husky chuckle from the back of his throat at the same time the woman's lewd proposal slithered into his ears, traveled down his chest and sparked warmth in his stomach and lower. Black still kept his resolute demeanor, not willing to become uprooted so quickly by something as simple as dirty talk. He had to admit, she was good at it. Every fucking sinful syllable dripped with hunger from her red painted lips, and each time she did, he responded like a moth to firelight…

Speaking of lips, his thoughts drifted off and he wondered if her mouth was good with other things besides just talking.

_Only one way to find out._

Erron gave the door a slight push with the heel of his boot and listened to it close. He didn't bother locking it as she raised a hand and beckoned him forward by curling a finger.

The smug cowboy hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, as he took measured steps that echoed throughout the dreary, empty house, while she watched him with wanton readiness; her fingers toying at the gold chain around her neck.

But once again… a little voice in the back of his mind called to him; the acute bounty hunter side of him that for some reason, didn't want to be silenced when he wanted it to. He couldn't understand why it lingered. It was her. Flesh and blood. Why did he still have his doubts because she didn't fit the mold of what he thought she would be like? He wasn't here for her fucking personality _,_ which he had to admit, liked so far _…_

The woman bit her thumb between her teeth as she listened to his measured footfalls, a smile coyly hidden behind her fist as she breathed out a small laugh from behind it…

And yet… her _personality_ wasn't adding up, as well as some other things he took note of, now that he had time to acknowledge after a moment's break from their introductions.

It hadn't escaped his notice that the house was barren, more so than what he would have figured and but hadn't expected it to be completely empty. Though, he did see another door that led to what he presumed was another room, so he rationalized that he must be standing in what was her workplace.

Black found himself tapping his thumb against the outside of his leather belt in thought when he saw the only bottle of what he assumed was medicine on the table. For a healer, he'd thought she'd have more— much more, as well as tools to accompany her profession.

While the detail alone would be enough to nag at him… it still wasn't enough to make him take a step back.

Black stood in front of her, encroaching on her space and trapping her between his body and the table, which she smiled at; clearly enjoying his proximity and even leaned towards him. With only mere inches of space between them, the woman raised a playful, challenging eyebrow that he understood clearly.

" _Well? I'm waiting…"_

Erron reached down, grappling his hands behind her thighs and lifted her while she giggled in surprise when he sat her on the table behind them.

Her legs already opened to accommodate him as he dropped his hands behind her knees, wrapped his fingers around and gave her a curt tug forward until she was on the edge of the table and had her hips pressed against his.

Her ankles hooked around behind the back of his legs as she grinned ardently at him. At the same time he grabbed under her skirt to nab the fabric with his fingers, the material coming with his hands as he ran his gloves greedily from the back of her calves and smoothed them over the top of her thighs before he bunched the material around her hips.

She let out a breathy exhale, her arms encircling around his shoulders as his gloved hands massaged the skin of her now naked thighs and noting she was just as naked underneath the dress between her legs.

Erron's gaze found her, and he teasingly raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't you just wanna get right to the point."

She shrugged innocently, letting out a tiny _'hmpf'_. The smile she gave him like a misbehaving schoolgirl that just got caught.

His eyes landed on the somewhat empty table again. "I'm guessin' other me doesn't really come to you for _healing_ ," he conversed, saying the first thing that entered his mind, before leaning forward to kiss her.

Out of the blue, her brown eyes darkened at the mention of the older Black. "No—he doesn't!" she snapped hatefully through her teeth.

He stopped, his brow furrowing in confusion at her.

Unfortunately, just as before, he found her statement to be odd and ill-fitting to what he predicted of her character. Why was she suddenly so livid? Especially after he saw her pull the elder gunslinger into her door with puppy-dog eyes yesterday. Her lightning-strike anger towards his other self was a complete, abrupt turn and strange enough to snap him out of his incited stupor… and make the voice in his head grow louder.

She calmed herself, sighing lightly when she detected that her small outburst unsettled the air between them. It did little to offer solace, though, because what also started to flatten the mood for him, now that he was closer to her, were details that were different— ones he didn't notice from the doorway. They were small, tiny things that could be easily missed, but he still caught them despite being tipsy from the Outworld wine.

Erron brought his hand up, pinching a strand of hair between his fingers — and saw it was shorter than the day before. The length of it landing at the top of her breast instead of down the side of it. "Have a haircut recently?"

She blinked at him, clearly not understanding why he would suddenly throw the question out. However, she pushed the inquiry away, her tongue darting out and licking her bottom lip. "There are… other things — two in fact —you can touch with your hand… and they feel _much_ better than my hair."

He snorted lightly in amusement at her. She was just twisting his arm, wasn't she? His eyes squinted while he spun the strands between his digits slowly in contemplation, deciding to take her up on her volunteered indulgence while he still could. "Well… since you're offerin' darlin."

Leaving her hair, he went to lightly graze his gloved fingertips across the top of her chest with torturous, feather caresses. Close but nowhere near where she was clearly _aching_ for him to touch her.

She breathed deeply, both of their eyes following his fingers, and he smirked arrogantly at how hard she panted just by the simplest touch he could extend.

The woman hummed as her eyes closed while he continued to ghost his fingers along her skin; her feverish flesh already burning enough to feel through his glove. Erron lowered his hand, coming to the apex of the V her dress made and hooked a finger inside.

Very, _VERY_ slowly, he dragged it up along the low neckline, passing along the soft pillowy outer curve of her breast — earning a breathy gasp from her when he grazed over it. He traced up between her cleavage, and over the bump from her right collarbone until his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Stop teasing…" she uttered impatiently.

His hand shifted across, the pads of his covered fingers brushing along the front of her throat and heading down to her necklace before resting it over the medallion that hung above the valley of her breasts — and stopped there.

"You cruel bastard…" she breathed out in complaint.

He said nothing, but smiled inwardly, as he ran his thumb over the orange stone in the middle.

Erron frowned yet again. His eyes squinting suspiciously at the necklace.

It was another thing that was different about her. Black knew that most women were wishy-washy about wearing jewelry and make-up, letting the nature of the day decide, but he had _never_ seen either of them before today.

"You sure are all gussied up today, sweetheart," his eyes stared sharply, mildly accusingly at her, despite his honeyed words. "What's the occasion?"

She beamed at him, though her eyes shot him with slight irritancy at his subtle skepticism, causing him to narrow his eyes back as he looked over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose critically. He could have sworn she had freckles unless the sun yesterday and the wine today were playing tricks on him.

Her hand came up to rest over the top of his and forced his hand down…

"You," she responded, pushing his hand until it landed on top of one of her breasts to grope through the material of her red dress.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, his hand moving lightly against the swell of her breast… fuck she was soft…

"You are my occasion," she answered, flexing her fingers over his to coax him to move his hand more, only letting her arm fall to her side once he picked up a lazy rhythm. She let out a small whimper when he absently squeezed her nipple through the fabric. "... Do… do I need a better one than that?""

His eyes glinted amatively at her words as he moved the same hand across her and snaked his hand under the fabric to grab her opposite breast. Rewarding her good answer.

She gasped and arched into his palm, her fingernails scratching at the table, while he manipulated her soft flesh in his hand and felt her nipple grow erect through his glove…

"Take your gloves off…" she begged.

He grinned, letting a pause hang in the air.

"You didn't say _please_ ," he objected with a vain relish, pinching so hard on her nipple that it made her let out a shocked gasp.

Her eyes narrowed challengingly at him, reached down, and took his gloved hand away from her chest to bring to her mouth. She pulled his pointer finger into her mouth—leather and all— and immediately he felt her tongue swirl around it; wetting and warming it from just the heat of her mouth.

Erron swallowed, his pulse quickening, as he watched her eyes darken as she withdrew his finger slowly from her mouth; moaning from the back of her throat that he felt flutter down his glove before his hand fell from her mouth.

" _Please_ … take your gloves off…" she whined at him, the fingers of her other hand reaching up to unsnap the metal button that held the glove secure.

He caught her wrist in his other hand when the button popped open, pulled it away and pinned her wrist to the table at her side.

"I don't take orders from a woman, no matter how _nice_ they ask," he refused again, smirking snidely. "You'll have to _beg_ better than that to get me to do anythin'."

Seeing it as more of a game, she smiled, pouting facetiously at him. "Please Erron, it'll be _so_ much better. I want your real hands on me… _everywhere_. I'll do anything. Just let me feel your hands without the gloves"— her other hand reached across, grabbed the hand that kept her wrist pinned and brought it to mold his palm between her legs.

He felt his cheeks instantly heat up, her hand squeezing over his to make his hand cup her pussy firmly through the dress at the same time she moaned out her words in spectacle at him— "I want to cum on it. I want to soak your hand and let you watch me lick it clean. Will you let me do that… or do you want me to _beg_ some more?"

He let out a strained chuckle, warmth ladling down low in his belly, while his hand moved more between her legs, making her whimper as he fingered her through the fabric.

Her hands came up to his neck, her nails on the sides of his throat sliding from the back to the front, scratching pleasantly across his skin. His head dipped back, and his eyelids lowered while a low groan fell from his mouth before she released to let her palms rest on his shoulders.

He pressed his fingers harder against her covered cunt, causing her to gasp as the leather of his jacket bent underneath her clenching hands.

"What do you want me to do, honey? What do I _need_ to do for you to get you to touch me how I want you to?"

His eyes darkened as his hand left to land on her thigh before it prowled underneath her skirt… traveling up…

"I want you to _beg_ some more."

She gasped as his thumb found her clit and began circling it. He grinned, reveling at the sound of the leather of his jacket complaining when she crushed it tighter in her palms. He almost didn't hear the jacket strain again, when he pulled his thumb away to slowly push his index finger inside her and curl it in his direction. She mewled loudly and careened her head forward, resting it against his shoulder as she whimpered into his jacket.

Erron's nose crinkled slightly as he caught a whiff of something— something he didn't particularly like that smelled like mint, and it caused his hand to slow for a moment… distracting him only for a second before she moaned into his shoulder again…

His other hand came up to sink into her hair and he twisted his fingers through her scalp, balling it into a decent handle, before he yanked her head back so he could watch her writhe and wail wantonly under him.

"Tell me what I want to hear…" he induced and entered a second finger, his middle to join with the other. He pulled them both out slowly— before he picked up the pace and pumped them into her; the entire time smiling mirthfully as she gasped each time he pushed them inside; the woman spiraling harder and faster the more he proceeded…

"I'm waitin', sugar."

She shuddered, her body shaking as she sought for the strength to reply.

… It was all going well…

Perfectly not at all what he had expected…

And then she had to fucking ruin it…

She bit her lip at him, her brown eyes pleading, as she answered him between a lascivious moan: "W-what do you want me to do for you? I'll do anything you want. I can do _anything_ you like. Tell me what you want me to do to you… and I'll make all your dreams come true, honey."

His hand under her dress came to a gradual slow, but not because he was doing it purposely… it slowed on its own when he realized her statement sounded _too_ familiar to him, and it made the perceptive bounty hunter's voice return again.

Yes, it was what he wanted to hear, but he had expected a different articulation and choice of words from what he had assumed was a healer. It should have turned him on bad to hear her speak so depravedly, _begging_ him to know what he wanted, but (begrudgingly) it garnered the opposite reaction from him. He remembered hearing the same phrases, repeatedly, in somewhat the same situations, and with the same inflection she had said at him just now…

He squinted his eyes dubiously at her and his hand finally stopped moving

...From prostitutes…

Even though it all felt nice, his hands on her, the sounds he could pry from her mouth just with his touches, he couldn't help but find himself bringing back up the woman's most _glaring_ difference that didn't fit at all with what he saw yesterday…

Her unapologetic, _harlot_ demeanor she paraded about to him. While he had seen her attracted to his older self, and flirted back and forth, she had never been this much of a blatant slut.

His mind played back her dialogue to him, imagining them being spoken from her lips to his older self, but despite every amorous expression he had seen on her the previous day, her words didn't fit no matter how hard he tried to picture them coming from her mouth. Though on the surface they were similar puzzle pieces they would still never fit no matter how hard he wanted them to; the picture he had would never match.

The gunslinger's hand pulled away from her crotch, his hand falling from her hair, and it caused her to look and sigh in disappointment at him as her hands left his shoulders. However, it was nothing in comparison to how suspicious and vexed he was.

"Why did you stop? Touch my cunt, please…"

His brows knitted into a hard line. Her vocabulary was a bit _too_ brazen for a healer now that he really scrutinized it. Or any everyday run-of-the-mill Outworld woman. It was aggravating. He should have been flattered by how desperately she wanted him, if he didn't feel there was just something amiss.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes traveling over him in concern.

"You talk too dirty _,_ " he related, his tone sharp as he looked over her red attire and makeup again. She was even dolled up like a whore.

Her eyes blinked in puzzlement at him. "I like talking this way, and well… well I just guessed you would like it too."

"Is that right?" he mused back, unconvinced.

The woman shrugged innocently at him. "Your older self enjoyed it when I did it. I just thought I would do the same with you since he liked it so much. I… I just wanted you to like me."

Biting bitterness rushed through him at her simple assumption, causing him to pull back from her slightly in annoyance. He didn't like being compared to his older self. _He_ was supposed to be the better of the two.

"We ain't the goddamn same," he scowled irately back to her. "There ain't nothing kindred between us. If that's what you were hopin' for, then maybe I wasted my goddamn time with you."

The woman shrunk at his words, looking at him crestfallen as he started to step away from her. Her legs tightened around the back of his knees, simply anchoring him so he couldn't step further away as her hands came up to hold his face.

"No —no-no-no —please don't go. I'm sorry— you're right, that was wrong of me. I shouldn't have assumed," she apologized desperately to him, one of her hands stroking his cheeks as she looked pitifully at him. "Please, I'm sorry… just stay _please_ … don't leave me… I promise that wasn't my intention. I like that you are not like him… it's better — much better."

The corner of Erron's mouth tugged to the side in doubt, although her avowal and apology appeared candid enough. Yet her previous words still sat sour with him and immediately fouled the air between them; causing him to reconsider if he even wanted to continue — especially with how pathetic her babbling was; it was a bit of a turn off.

She seemed to sense his growing agitation and gave him a timid, but reassuring smile: "Stop dwelling on it, honey. I don't like him anymore. You're not that Erron and I _like_ it. I liked you more the minute I saw you…"

The woman lifted her arms, wrapping them around his shoulders and leaned her body into his. Erron left his hands at his sides, unresponsive, but still he let her pull him until their hips were together as she continued.

"It's _real…_ I promise it is," she assured, her eyes beseeching him to believe her. "Come get what you came for…" — she leaned forward and kissed him which he returned back lightly, before she pulled his bottom lip through her teeth slowly — "...over and _over_ again. As many times as you want… "

He smacked his lips, his face wrinkled in disgust, as a taste unfavorably sat on his mouth — transferred from her kiss. Once again, he caught another whiff of what he smelt before on her breath that he finally could identify and fucking downright _loathed_.

_Peppermint._

Except, Outworld's version— the version he tasted now —tasted like peppermint covered in dirt, but he always despised both variations no matter what realm it was from.

The gunslinger hadn't made a visitation yet, but he had heard from other men in the bar today that there was only one place where the women tasted similarly: The House of Dusk. Some sort of fancy high-paying brothel that he hadn't been in the future long enough to see just yet. Apparently, the _peppermint_ kept the workers in high spirits enough to fit in more clients and put more coins in their purse.

She kissed him again, moaning into his mouth, but he didn't move his lips back against hers this time.

So why was he tasting it when they weren't anywhere near a brothel?

She was supposed to be a healer…

His eyes squinted at her.

So why did she taste the same as a whore?

The bounty hunter felt her fingers start to play with the loose strands of his hairline, spinning the baby hairs through her fingers with light, inviting touches. Doing her best to distract him as her tongue entered his mouth, lapping against his that he returned with only mild enthusiasm.

In combination with her hands, her kissing him, and breasts and hips pressed firmly up against him, it was almost enough to make him forget what she tasted like and lose focus…

One of his gloved hands came up, raveling into her hair…

 _Almost_.

Erron tugged back hard on her scalp, causing the woman to let out a pained, but _pleased_ , yelp as he pulled her off him.

It was meant to be a threat — enough to snap and scare her out of her phony act — but instead he found himself growing agitated as she let out a gasped moan of arousal from her simpering, now smeared, red-painted lips.

"You seem a bit _too_ rarin' to go," he accused, his words a low snarl before he yanked harder back on her hair. Trying his best to emphasize he wasn't fooling around with her.

She replied with a soft laughing exhale before her eyes glazed over with ardent desire; apparently still thinking it was a game.

" _Tighter…_ " she whispered, her hips moving against his, earning a small grunt from him as she rocked her crotch against his dwindling, but still present erection.

Her continued obliviousness grated against his nerves, even if his cock did twitch at her authentic aroused demeanor. Instead of heeding her command, he used his free hand to lift the gun from his holster and brought the barreled end under her chin.

Erron pulled the hammer back, his finger around the trigger, making her come to a halt finally and shrink in fear, while he gravely said: "Trust me, you don't want me to pull _tighter._ Why do you taste like a peppermint-flavored whore? _"_

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at him and despite the harsh grip on her scalp, she shook her head. "What is peppermint?"

He rolled his eyes. "What're ya' playin at?" he demanded, bringing the gun up to dig a little deeper into her chin. " _Peppermint_ Patty?"

The woman blinked at him, trying to decipher his words, before he noticed her hand reached back and grabbed the green glass bottle. "Oh… I think this is what you are tasting. I had some before you came here."

With his hands occupied, he allowed her to bring the bottle to his face to inspect. Erron assumed she was just offering it up close so he could smell the liquid, which he could tell was as pungent as the Earthrealm herb and sloshing inside was as dark as tar. He brought his face even closer, looking down at it with disgust.

It was a mistake, cause suddenly, her eyes glinted with mischievous delight like a trickster, as she all but shoved the bottle into his mouth — making sure he got a taste. The glass clanked against his teeth as she cackled like a pranking pixie and pushed it at him more, some of it traveling down his throat, and coating the inside of his mouth with the cold, bitingly sweet, _muddy_ taste. It tasted like cold mint tea but scorched his insides like moonshine.

He growled angrily, bringing his gun away from her chin to pistol-whip the bottle away. She let out a pained whimper, the woman shaking her hand at the bruise his gun probably caused, before she looked at the broken glass bottle and its contents despondently.

Black spat what was left in his mouth to the side, scraping his tongue with his teeth to squeezy the taste away. He could still feel it burn down him as the repugnant liquid skirted down his torso, and bewilderingly, ended in his cock. Causing him to go stiff against his pants despite how livid he was. His eyes grew dark as he regarded her, ignoring the strange sense of heating ardor that flowed down his chest and shot energy through him — as if he had just taken a potent sip of coffee

His hand twisted bruisingly in her hair — wringing it until she let out a real whimper of discomfort. Tears pricked out of the corner of her eyes as he glowered at her. She was lucky that's all he did, he could have shot her for that alone.

"Do it again and the only thing that'll be fuckin' you is the worms after I put you six feet under," he spat hatefully, bringing the gun back under her chin.

The woman pouted sadly at him, looking sincerely rejected as tears pebbled at the corner of her eyes and one spilled down her face — making guilt stab at him for a second.

"Why are you always so _mean_ to me? It was just a joke. _You_ always used to play cruel jokes on _me_ when I've done nothing but be nice to you. Well, the other _you,"_ her eyes narrowed scathingly at him. "You _are_ just like _him,_ aren't you?"

He loosened his hand slightly, but not without grumbling a defensive: "We ain't nothin' alike, but we do have _one_ thing in common... I _hate_ peppermint."

The woman's eyes softened at him after a moment, blinking back her tears, before one of her hands came up to wrap around the back of his— the same one tangled in her hair. The Outworld woman simply laid her hand over the top of his glove, as if giving him permission to keep it there, before he felt her lean into it. "I'm sorry… I forgot. We don't have to kiss on the lips… please — I can put my mouth anywhere else you want. Let me show you… _please,_ Erron. I still want you."

The mercenary scoffed at her, looking down at her and still regarding her with annoyance.

"Why should I?" he shot back finally. _Nobody_ shoves anything down his throat. He didn't enjoy being played for the fool, no matter how much of a fine-looking piece of ass she was. "Especially after the shit you just pulled?"

"I'll be good… I promise. No more tricks," she acknowledged quickly. "I can behave. I just wanted you to want me back… _please_ … I'm sorry…"

He sighed through his nose like a bull, but found his resentment melting away when she continued to stare up at him with big, sincere, fucking doe eyes. Regrettably, he also felt her words also puddle into his loins, spreading warmth and butterflying tendrils of branched heat up along his torso…

He swallowed, trying to reign in control as he suddenly felt his throat go bone dry. Whatever the drink was, he could feel it working its way into his system; flowing along his nerves and causing his thoughts to turn to shapeless mush already…goddamn it worked fast.

Her hand suddenly glided from his glove, traversed across his forearm to his bicep, before traveling back to his hair. All the while, she blinked sweetly at him. Trying her best to convey she was truly apologetic to him. She fucking should be, he shot people for less.

Her hand came back to rest along the cord of muscle by his shoulder and started to rub with her palm through the black leather jacket. His hand still stayed in her hair, but he loosened when she came forward, pressing up against him, and placed her other hand to just lay on his chest. Her lips close enough to his face to feel her breath on his chin.

"I was so happy when I heard there were two of you," she began, her eyes earnest. Her small, delicate fingers came up to grasp gently at the metal pull-tab of his zipper. Simply smoothing it between her pads.

"Were you?" he doubted. The corner of his mouth pulling bitterly at her as he smelled peppermint on her words.

She nodded, before she gave him an ugly look of disgust, her lip curling as she conveyed with brutal honesty. "I was happy… because I cannot stand your _other_ self anymore."

The gunslinger tilted his head in silent curiosity at her. She had his attention, but instead of saying anything, he simply nodded his head in allowance; a silent " _Go on."_

She breathed out a heavy sigh, her face relaxing back into her sensuous demeanor, as she gave his zipper a tug, pulling it down slowly as she continued.

"He hasn't been very nice to me, but I can tell you aren't like him. I wasn't lying when I said I thought you were more handsome. I don't lie to men I like _._ "

He wasn't sure which was more appealing, the sound of his zipper being pulled apart by her hands, or her confessing she hated the older Black, but both at the same time made him exhale deeply and ripped heat through him as he felt a sudden spike of energy nip at his nerves.

Her hand left his neck as soon as his jacket opened and joined her other, both beginning at his collarbones before languidly gliding her nails down over the black shirt he wore under his jacket…

Although he felt admired and smug to hear she didn't like his other self, he wasn't too inclined to trust her _just_ yet.

_Somethin' still ain't right… no matter how fucking good it feels…_

Erron clicked his tongue at her. "Still havin' a hard time believing you, sweetheart," he shot down. Replaying yesterday's moment of them kissing and clinging to each other in his head like a dour picture show.

The woman frowned with heavy exasperation at him, her face twisting in anger as her impatience seemed to reach its end at his constant rejections to her advances.

"What do you need me to do to convince you of how _much_ I want you?" she suddenly seethed furiously at him.

The woman pulled back, grumbling a curse at him, as she snatched his hand from her hair. He allowed her, the gun coming by his side as she used her hand to pull aside the fabric on the left side of her shoulder, ripping it away to reveal an ugly, and recognizable type of scar. He knew a bullet hole when he saw one…

… but it's not what drew his eyes first…

She exposed her breast to him, whether purposely or by mistake, he didn't really fucking care because it made his cock jump at the sight regardless. Erron had been picturing since yesterday what was under the dress, and he was far from disappointed…

"He shot me because his bounty _pushed_ me into him!" she told him, pulling his attention away to finally acknowledge the marred-disc of distorted scar-tissue that sullied her otherwise flawless skin; looking like a dead, withered brown mushroom stamped on her flesh.

It looked like an old wound, and it should have brought on more suspicion, but he knew Outworlders tended to heal faster than Earthrealmers did, depending on if magic was hereditary in their family. He'd seen some near fatal wounds heal in hours. It just depended on the lineage of the person and there were a lot of mixed folks in Outworld. Her wound could very well be recent— from yesterday— for all he knew. Especially considering that she was supposed to be a healer anyway.

Her voice got tight and low, seething her words hatefully through her teeth. "So, when I tell you that I _despise_ him, I have a _good_ reason for you to believe me! I haven't been lying to you!"

Black raised his eyes to her, silently mulling over her offended, and from what he could tell, honest declaration.

In fact, that was the thing: he did believe her when she said she hadn't been lying. Not once since he walked in the door had she fibbed to him. The mercenary was pretty good at detecting bullshit, and even though certain parts of her didn't necessarily fit well— things that could be debunked easily now that he thought about it — she had been forthright with everything she had told him. It was why it was so goddamn tough to just walk away…

He licked his bottom lip, staring at her.

… because just like every common word, every _dirty_ word that she had said had been truthful too.

He stared at her chest again. Judgement dissipating along with the adamant critical voice from before.

Her hand moved to her opposite shoulder, smiling salaciously at him as she noticed where his focus was, before she slid the other side of the dress off to reveal the other breast to him. The rest of the material pooled around her hips as she pushed the rest of the fabric down for him.

His cock throbbed in his pants, pressing achingly against the zipper, as he breathed heavily… and finally silenced the voice and his past resentment for her. The woman truly, _tortuously_ did want him, and in turn, it just made him want to commit more to his original goal despite his previous reservations.

"Do you believe me now?" she asked, her eyes on him as one of her hands came up to fondle her breast deliberately at him. "Or do you still need further convincing?"

The gun at his side tapped along the outside of his thigh lightly as he contemplated. All the while still feeling warmth seep from his hips and creep upwards along his torso as if he had just stepped into a warm bath.

He thought hard about it, but ultimately decided he didn't care about her little prank (though he was still pissed about it). Who cared that she wore make-up today, and if he couldn't remember if she had freckles or how long her hair was? It didn't matter. He came here with a plan and he was going to follow-through. The younger Black still wanted to get back at his older doppelganger, and if she wanted him this fucking badly, then it was even better ammo he could use against him.

He smirked wolfishly.

However, since they had a game that had unintentionally been set up, it didn't mean it had to end just yet.

The gunslinger raised the hand that was holding the gun and brought the cold metal end of it to lightly trace over one of her breasts. She arched up at it, her breath hitching as he began to languidly swirl the end around her nipple, watching as it perked up.

There was no threat besides him pointing a gun at her, but even the smallest bit of doubt there still might be, a sudden accidental pull of the trigger if she tried to swipe it away, made it all the more dangerously erotic for him. He loved it, having the dominance still, and leaving her antsy that he could change his mind and shoot her.

He flicked her nipple with the gun, causing her to give a quick gasp, before he pulled it away slightly.

"Well, I can see why ya' hate him, but you still haven't given me a reason _why_ you're so eager to saddle up with _me_. I wanna hear it. Convince me, sugar."

Eventually, she spoke again, sucking in a breath, but after a bit she smiled slightly at him.

"I am still mad at him for doing that, and even if you do look like him, I am willing to give you a chance," she intoned gently at him, though her eyes narrowed angrily for a brief second, "Even after being mean before by pulling my hair and pointing your gun at me."

He shrugged indifferently; his eyes sharp and offering no apology. "Then don't put things in my mouth."

She lifted a single shoulder back at him, her hands coming up under the hem of his shirt, as her fingernails scratched low on his hips near the pant-line before moving up his chest. "I said I was sorry… but if you're still angry, I can put something of yours in my mouth to help you forgive me."

He snorted. "You think of nothin' else don't you?"

"I enjoy sex— I'm not ashamed— and I know _you_ do as well," she simply remarked back before her eyes shot pointedly at him. "Even if I know why you are _really_ here. I don't mind though."

He picked an eyebrow up at her before he hitched a breath in the back of his throat as she ran her nails with light, but sharp pressure along his chest.

She continued, reveling at his reaction and smoothed her palms up and down his naked chest under the shirt. "I can help you get what I know you want. Just don't aim the gun at me again. Being shot once by you was enough and I don't like your gun near me no matter how good it felt just now."

Black narrowed his eyes at her, skeptical still, but lowered his pistol. "And what do you think I want—besides the obvious," he interrogated, somewhat curious.

A bit of hopefulness entered her eyes, before she blinked innocently at him, "I've always liked you Erron, but _you_ haven't been very nice to me as of late," she reiterated slightly.

The woman planted her palms on his chest under his shirt and massaged the skin of his pectorals lightly, alternating scratching lightly with her nails and kneading his muscles, before she gave him a pointed and amorous look. "I was told you had been watching, and I understand why you have— it's not hard to guess. You want to make him jealous, don't you? That's why you are here isn't it? To make him feel old and useless?"

Erron simply stared at her, regarding her admission with an unreadable resolve despite his chest rocked against her hands with heavy breaths. Was it that obvious?

She smiled despite his unresponsiveness; the muteness providing her answer anyway, before she stared at him dead in the eye.

"I want to make him jealous too. I want to make him _pay._ That's why _I_ am here," she studied him for a moment, as if testing to see if she'd let her continue. "Perhaps..."— one of her hands traveled south — "... we can help each other out."

He sucked in a patch of air through his nose when her hand cupped him through his pants, and grinned back at him with lewd fondness at how rock hard he was against her palm. "I think you want to too… unless you have another gun I do not know about?"

Her hand rubbed firmly against the bulge in his pants, and he fought through a sudden haze of arousal that swarmed his thoughts. Trying his best to stick to the subject even though her hand was enough to make him delirious.

"How do you reckon?" he asked, his tone resolute as she nestled in closer to him; her legs hooking against him tighter. The gun hung by his side, hanging in limp fingers, as he felt her yank the fabric at the neckline of his shirt to the side. She raked her lips across the side of his neck, before he felt her breath and lips by his ear.

"I'll tell him anything you want me to say next time I see him…" — her hand on his crotch pulled away, teeth nipping at his earlobe, before she purred out scandalously. "I'll tell him how I like you more… how _good_ your cock in my hand feels better than his ever did… and I can say more… but there's something you have to do first for me."

"What?" he breathed out as he felt her hand begin to wiggle into the front of his pants… and then lower…

She moved her lips towards his mouth, kissing along his stubble, and whispered into his skin before she locked her lips on him: "You have to fuck me _hard._ "

His eyes rolled into his skull, groaning into her mouth that he didn't even care tasted like peppermint when he felt her hand wrap around his neglected cock. The gunslinger's pistol dropped carelessly to the ground, the loud thud echoing about the room. She let out a humored chuckle against his lips as she moved her hand along his shaft with stunted, but pleasurable pressure with as much movement as the tight denim and belt allowed.

She pulled away to peck at his pulse while he began to automatically jerk his hips into her hand. She trailed her tongue from his throat and to his earlobe to pinch it between her teeth, before returning to back to his neck.

"I-Is that it?" Black questioned, jesting lightly, before he swallowed back a groan down his dry throat.

She nodded simply as her hand left his cock and dragged out of his pants to pry at the metal clasp of his belt. She tugged at it and began to unclasp it while she returned to his ear, soughing intimately into it.

"Otherwise, how can I tell him I enjoyed it more with you? You don't want me to be dishonest, do you? I can't tell him how much I liked you fucking me more if I don't know for sure, correct? I don't want to tell lies," — she unhooked the belt, letting the buckle fall to the side as she worked the zipper of his pants and slithered her hand inside again — "I want to be very, very _honest_."

Black groaned gutturally the same time she freed his cock from his pants and began stroking her hand over his shaft. Now able to do so more with it out in the open as she returned to kiss and lap her tongue at his neck. His teeth clenched tight as she skillfully worked him, and her furnace of a mouth continued to breathe hot air into his already scolding skin.

"You don't want me to be a _liar,_ do you?" she asked sweetly into his flesh. Her hand on his cock released to cradle his balls in her palm as she licked a stripe on his neck with her tongue.

His hand came up to clamp on her hip, his fingers bruising her skin through the bundled-up fabric as he breathed through his nose.

_Goddamn it…_

"D-don't see how'd ya be opposed to be dishonest" — he gasped hoarsely, clearing his throat and refocusing on his words; not wanting to be undone by her— "Seeing as you ain't exactly cut from any saintly cloth."

She paused before he felt her smile against his skin and returned her hand back to his cock. Squeezing tighter and working slower, fucking achingly so, as the healer smirked against his skin and replied: "Oh I know I am no angel... but my hand still feels _heavenly_ doesn't it, honey?"

A shudder ran down his spine.

 _Fuck_.

His hand gripped tighter on her hip, causing her to sigh lightly into his neck. She leaned back from him, brought her hand up, licked and coated it thoroughly, before slicking his cock with her spit before returning her lips to nip at his neck.

"No… You ain't no fucking prude that's for sure…" he groaned out to her in agreement as her wet hand pumped along his shaft.

His other hand reached out to grab her hair again, pulling back so he could look her in the eye. He gave her a sharp little tug on her scalp, earning a pained whimper before a sinful grin spread along her face. He stared, assessing her from her flushed face, down her body, to her fucking perfect tits, and then back to her face again…

Erron breathed heavily, air escaping between his teeth as she stroked her hand along his cock… and pulled the last loose thread of his grounded willpower.

Fuck it.

It was all suspiciously gift-wrapped for him, but he didn't give a shit anymore. Everything appeared genuinely enough and could be explained easily. She wasn't bullshitting him and had a good reason to want to get back at his older self. And so what if she wanted to wear makeup for him and rile herself up from the drink. Wanting to be ready to go when he got here. He should be flattered she went through so much trouble. So what, if it wasn't what he had expected…

He allowed a husky grumble to escape, one he had been biting back, as his body rocked into her palm, her legs rubbing against the sides of his legs as her hand pumped faster.

…She was _better_.

There was no downside he saw. He'd still get what he wanted by not only giving the healer the fucking of a lifetime but also taking his older self-down a peg after she told the elder Black about it. After all, he lived in the moment, and who the fuck cared what he saw yesterday, he was going to enjoy _today_ …

He couldn't see how he could lose.

"You got yourself a bargain," he didn't know why, but he felt compelled to ask. Spurred on by mere curiosity of the woman who outpaced his expectations. "What's your name, sugar?"

She smiled at him, her hand loosening and stopping at the head of his shaft. He stared at her hand as she collected the pre-cum that beaded at the end with her thumb…

"Sera."

… and brought it up to sink into her mouth, staring him dead in the eye.

The sight alone almost made him cum, but then she let out a lewd _'mmpmh'_ at him, letting him know she enjoyed the taste and pulled her thumb slowly from her mouth. "And I'll make sure to tell your older self how much _better_ you taste, too."

His hand tightened in her hair, his body on molten fucking fire…

"I ain't gonna be gentle," he snarled out his warning. His restraint near the cusp as he stared down at her.

Her eyes bored back at him as equally ardent and as dark as raven feathers, "Good. I hate soft men…"

Erron's fingers spiraled through her scalp, balling hair into his fist as her hands came up to hold his face… he let out a deep sigh when she leaned forward and gave his bottom lip a quick sharp nip, her breath ghosting against his lips… "...Fuck me hard."

His tongue darted out, tasting a faint ping of copper on his bottom lip, before his eyes darkened and glassed over, a carnivorous grin stretching across his face…

"Oh… I'd be careful what you wish for…"

He pulled her forward to his mouth so hard that she gave a whimper of pain against his lips. But then she was in the fray with him, moving her tongue against his as he held her head in his hand, the other coming up to grasp and knead roughly at one of her breasts. They stayed interlocked, lapping and moaning into each other's mouths before he got a brisk taste of peppermint that was enough to break his patience. Her sloppy and keen kisses weren't enough to distract him from it, he just hated the flavor too much and her lips were soaked in the taste…

But then he smirked against her mouth, remembering something she had said earlier about putting her mouth _other_ places.

The bounty hunter pulled her lips from him, and took a step back from the table, his hand in her hair like a leash. She obeyed almost instantly, understanding what he wanted, and jumped down from the table.

The gunslinger barely pushed down with any pressure on her scalp before she got down to her knees in front of him, her hands already to the side of his hips and tugging his pants down his legs.

He breathed heavily at her, watching, as his chest rose and fell as her hands moved to his thighs and slowly ran up them; her touch making the muscles in his legs flex and go stiff underneath her soft palms, before she grasped and stroked his cock again and smiled carnally at him.

He couldn't help but let a small grin pull out at the corner of his mouth as he gazed upon her between his legs: lipstick smeared, kohl smudged and pupils blown wide and black with her hands wrapped around him; enjoying every groan she was able to pull from his throat. She was just completely unthreatening, normal and obedient, which typically wasn't his taste—especially regarding the former.

Black ran his fingers through her hair, raising an eyebrow at her before letting out a breathless sardonic chuckle at her. "You know… you ain't usually my type, sweetheart."

"I know," she chirped back, looking up at him while rolling her hand up and down on his shaft. "Your older self-told me all about those bloodsucking whores, Nitara and Skarlet…"— he let out a hiss when she brushed the end of her tongue against the head of his cock, giving it a quick kitten lick —"...but let me let you in on a little secret."

He inhaled deeply, his interest fucking piqued. "What?"

Sera licked her lips, her eyes looking to his cock, back up again before pulling her face into a filthy toothy smile. "I can suck you better than both of them can."

He had a quip, but couldn't remember what it was the instant every muscle in his body went impossibly rigid, his hand like a vice on her hair as she took him into her mouth… and then even deeper…

" _Fuck—"_

She hummed around his cock, one of her hands coming to rest on the outside of his thigh as her other grasped him, working in tandem with her mouth as her head bobbed up and down on him. Black panted hoarsely, his fingers wandering and tugging through her scalp as she continued to work vivaciously; the inviting cavern of her mouth hot and wet and making his body temperature spike and boil…

Erron's hands left to shed off the leather jacket finally, feeling as if he was melting underneath it. He fumbled doing so, her mouth providing delicious distraction, while his body burned, feeling hotter than a metal pan left out in the sun. Eventually, he managed to finally shrug it off and toss it to the bed.

The gloves came next, the sounds of the metal buttons snapping open nearly drowned out by the muffled moan she gave, sending faint fluttering tremors along his shaft and causing him to let out a ragged rasp.

His hat joined the gloves and jacket on the bed, thrown like a plate towards the mattress. He wasn't sure if his cherished headwear even made it to the bed, when his head leaned back, and his eyes closed. Sera pulled away and licked a long, wet line with her tongue along the underside of his shaft before suckling at the crown of his cock.

"Shit—" he gritted, his bare hand coming up to the back of her head to grab her hair. He collected it at the base of her skull, forming a sloppy pony-tail before he curtly and unsympathetically began to fuck into her mouth; causing her to let out a muted groan as her palms landed on each of his thighs, simply using them as a brace…

Looking down at her with a cruel, vulgar smirk, he pushed at the back of her head—hard enough to break the girder her hands provided. He made her take the rest of him into her mouth down to the hilt, a small surprised muffled moan issuing from her as he did it without warning. Still, she didn't push back against him, as she did her best to accommodate him… and he relished at how much _trouble_ she seemed to be having.

Black groaned at the disheveled sight of her as he felt the head at the back of her throat and held her there for several, excruciatingly deliberate, seconds; dark mirth filling him as he listened to her gag obscenely and saw tears start to prick at the corner of her eyes. Erron faintly heard her struggling to breathe through her nose before he released her; his hand still wrapped around her hair like a band.

Sera drew away, gulping air loud and greedily into her lungs, while one of her hands came up to stroke his cock— now immodestly slick from the collected spit that had puddled into her mouth from the forced deep-throat. Kohl streamed down her face, running like graphite rivers along her red-flushed cheeks, but still she grinned wickedly up at him before taking him back into her mouth and staring up at him the entire time, making him grin back with primal appreciation as he rocked his hips into her mouth.

One of her hands left the tense muscle of one of his thighs and went to pay attention to his balls; fondling them in her hand as her other left to encircle his shaft.

"Fuck… your mouth…" his eyes rolled back, her hand cupping his balls in partnership with her mouth nearly making his brain short circuit. "Ya _are_ fuckin' _good_ …"

Sera detached long enough to respond briefly with a self-satisfied: "I know," before she went back at it. She sucked off the head of his cock with a loud 'pop' before slowly rolling her tongue over the tip for several exquisite moments, and then followed it by taking him back down deep once more.

His head tipped back while air puffed from his lungs, coming up from his throat like smoke pumped from a coal-train's chimney; his body trembling and sweating when he felt the back of her throat again.

"Good girl…" he gritted out, praising her as his other hand combed almost tenderly atop her dark hair.

The strangled gurgling gag and the look of her wasn't the most attractive thing in the realms when she came up for air, but it made him fucking wickedly haughty at the sight and sound. She collected breath, a spider-silk thin strand of saliva hanging from her bottom lip and attached to the head of his cock. She continued to brush her enclosed fist up and down his shaft while her other hand left his balls and made its way down towards her hips.

Her hand slithered down under her bunched red dress hanging loosely off her hips and then continued their progression. She swallowed him back into her mouth at the same time she let out a small moan when she found her clit and began to work it, rubbing it with the same cadence that she continued on him.

Erron's hips rolled in conjunction, growing more paced the more she picked up speed, sucking him off more vigorously. His hand twisted in her hair, spinning it clockwise, as his hoarse grunts and groans also grew in tempo. At the same time, sweat beaded down the back of his neck, rolling down his chest and back… fuck he was getting close.

The young gunslinger looked down at her, and feeling his eyes on her, she looked up at him, both silently evaluating and acknowledging that he was reaching his end. However, he wasn't ready to finish off just yet, despite how fucking appetizing the thought of cumming down her throat was.

He smirked.

_Maybe later._

Black pulled away, stepping away from her, and forcing her back to her feet when he lifted and dragged the hand tangled in her hair with him.

At first, he eyed the soft bed, it being the closest and most befitting piece of furniture for fucking the room had to offer. Instead, he backed her in the opposite direction as he kicked and lifted himself out of his pants and boots. The only article of clothing left on being his sweat-drenched shirt.

Erron spun her to face the table, the woman barely registering where she even was, before he planted his free hand on her lower back to shove her hips towards the edge. He slammed her face first on the table, pushing hard on the back of her head, and earning a light whine of pain from her when he bent her over the desk none-too-gently. She didn't seem to mind how rough he was, and frankly neither did he, before he stepped against her.

The mercenary let go of her hair, simply resting his hand at the center of her back, as his other grabbed the folds of her now wrinkled dress that encircled her waist like a ring. He worked the fabric over her ass and down her thighs, gravity eventually taking over and letting it go to let it drop around her ankles.

She stepped out of the fabric and gave it a light push away with her foot as his shirt came over his head to join it on the floor. Erron brought one of his feet to kick out her legs, opening them, and exposing her weeping cunt to him and the air.

She bucked forward, a startled gasp escaping her when his hand came to her slit; sliding his fingers firmly through her folds as he leaned over and whispered: "Did you cum already without me knowin' darlin' or did you really get this fucking wet from sucking me off?"

She was going to answer but couldn't when Erron pushed two of his fingers inside her without warning, her soaked cunt offering no resistance as he sunk them into her.

Her nails scratched audibly against the table when she curled her hands by her head, her tongue as limp as her limbs as she quivered under him and let out muffle mewls into the wood. His fingers pumped at a consistent pace before increasing; enjoying that the faster he went the more vocal she became.

It didn't matter how loud she was, Erron could still pick up the vulgar squelching her pussy made the wetter she got from his fingers… and he fucking crowed smugly, his cock twitching against the skin of the back of her thigh

"Make me cum— _please…"_ she panted for air, her mouth agape as she tossed her head to look at him, her nails like talons on the desk.

Erron withdrew his hand from her and crammed the fingers that had been in her cunt inside her open mouth. She gagged in surprise, his fingers carelessly prodding against her tongue that she hadn't anticipated him to do, but then quickly caught up to him. One of her hands wrapped around his wrists, simply for something to hold on to, as she sucked and moaned loud around his fingers.

He breathed heavily at her, watching as she mopped and savored the taste of herself, before he pulled away from her mouth.

"Beg _harder_."

Despite his ardent command, an action that would usually dictate a response to follow, Erron didn't give her a moment's rest to speak, before he placed his hand back on her; stroking the lips of her pussy while a rich rumble echoed inside his chest at how searing hot and wet she felt on his naked hand. He entered a single finger inside her, and she moaned shamelessly, arching her back like a cat, as her forehead pressed to the table while her fingers searched for something on the table to grab, but found nothing.

He maneuvered his hand, until he had his thumb pressed to her clit, and rubbed it in agonizingly slow spirals with his finger still inside her. She whimpered, her legs beginning to shake, as the rest of her body responded desirably to his hand.

"Please… Let me," she pleaded, her voice a strained breathy whine. " _Please_ … it's been too long _—_ by the Gods _—_ i-it's been _so_ long… since a-anyone has… made me cum good…"

Erron's lips twitched upwards in arrogance. "Oh… _has_ it?"

She nodded her head, making him chuckle darkly. It was no wonder why she wanted him _—_ his older self wasn't cutting it for her it seemed. The woman moaned again, her eyes shutting tight as he felt her throb around his fingers; her body begging more than she was voicing for reprieve…

He was still gonna make her work for it.

"Tell me what I want to hear."

Her eyes opened, her breathing quick, as she struggled to even look at him over her shoulder. "W-what— what do you want… to hear?" she gasped, having a hard time sucking in air to form and push out the necessary syllables.

"Tell me," he paused, thinking, before he gave a low ' _hmm'_ in the back of his throat and relayed; finally settling on what he wanted to know.

… but not before he rotated his hand, his thumb leaving but making it up to her by bending his finger sharply inside her, stretching it against the velvety resistance of her walls and making her whimper wantonly again. "Tell me again what you'll say to older me… and maybe I'll _let_ you cum on my hand…"

Erron wasn't sure if she struggled to comprehend what he wanted her to tell him, her mind an incoherent maze trying to find the answer at the end, or she simply couldn't talk because she couldn't breathe in order to speak back to him. Regardless he still waited for her answer. "Lemme hear it..." he entered a second finger.

Sera sobbed into the table before gasping for air, collecting enough to finally reply. "I-I'll tell him… _Gods_ … I'll tell him… You're better… y-you're —fuck— _better_ than him… cause… he hasn't made me cum… in so long… that—that I want you more than him now… I want you… not him…"

"Good answer…" With a measured twist and curl, he had her screaming at the same time her arms went slack, and she planted her palms and chest prone against the table. She shivered, her body shaking, as he felt her pulse hot, wet and _tight_ around his fingers… making him relish with a dark, winner's gloat when he felt her cumming on his hand and her orgasm raze through her weak form… her body taking a few, long moments to settle down…

"Gods almighty…" she sighed into the wood…

Her head shot back up, Erron pulling her against his chest from behind by her hair, and brought his soaked hand to her mouth, hovering it inches from her lips…

He 'tsked'. "Look at the _mess_ you made, babydoll… " he taunted, his voice impossibly baritone as he showed her his hand; glistening in the dull fleeting sunlight before he dropped his voice even lower and ordered: "Now lick it _clean_ …"

Delirious, her eyes barely open and still riding the waves of her climax, her tongue came out and washed over his fingers. Sucking and sponging up her own slick as she fulfilled her raunchy promise she made from before. Erron watched — just like she wanted him to — and caught himself holding his breath, only finding out he had when a hiss escaped out heavy and rattled against his teeth.

She finished, giving his fingers a quick peck before she looked over her shoulder at him.

He put his mouth to the shell of her ear, whispering: "Whaddya say?"

She leaned into him. "Thank you…"

"Good girl…" he chuckled into her ear, his hand left her hair and landed on the back of her shoulder. Erron pushed her back flat against the table; the woman laying against it panting like a limp ragdoll. He leaned hard against her, grinding his hips hard from behind, and earning a quiet whimper from her before he grabbed his shaft and lined himself up.

"On second thought... maybe don't thank me _just_ yet…"

She let out a squeal when he bluntly pressed against her and pushed his cock inside in one swift, brutal thrust.

Erron let out a choked groan, trying to collect oxygen into his lungs from the burning air, as his hands encircled around her hips. He pushed down and mounted up against her as he lurched forward and hilted himself fully; both of them moaning loudly in unison when they connected skin to skin.

 _Fucking Shit_.

Eventually, coherence returned after being sucker-punched by the debilitating, _tight_ blissfully wet entrance, before he pulled out and then _slammed_ back in, making her gasp loudly. He started slow and curt, before pounding into her without consideration of how hard he was. Remembering her harlot-like demeanor, he assumed she could take it anyway — and discovered soon he was right.

She cried out with each pleasurably biting insert, her chest skating forward and back across the wood as one of her hands came back to grip over his hand as a handle… " _Harder…_ "

He squeezed her flesh between his palms before her fingers needled sharply into the back of his hand as he picked up a rougher ramming pace; her eyes rolling into the back of her head before she released his hand and flattened her palms by her head.

Erron grinned at how she welcomed how hard he was; encouraging him on by wailing out with her moans tumbling unabashedly in between crooning praised curses at him. The only thing that did seem to complain was the table as every ram caused the furniture to teeter on its legs and bounce and crash against the wall.

"Fucking _hell_ babygirl — you feel so fucking good… " he rasped out, his dirty admiration almost getting lost under the rhythmic hard clapping of his hips against her's and the table's loud protest with every mean thrust.

He heard her nails scratch and trail down the table's surface, hard enough that Erron thought her fingernails would leave permanent indentations in the wood. It was simply the only thing she could do with the full weight of his upper-body bearing down on her to keep her immobile, as he took her one of the ways he pictured in the bar earlier… shit, it was even better than how he had pictured earlier…

His own nails dug hard into her skin…

Goddamn, if this was how good she felt, maybe he would consider locking the door after he was done with this round so no one could walk in on them and interrupt — no matter how much he wanted to goad at his future arrogant self. In fact, it didn't seem he needed to even tell the prick face-to-face at all by evidence of how fucking adamant she was in making sure the elder gunslinger reaped some humiliation. He didn't know their history, and frankly, didn't fucking care— only caring that she would do the work for him, if he delivered…

"Fuck—" His arm came under her and wrapped around her chest, bisecting up and across her breasts to clutch a hand at her opposite shoulder. He hauled her up against him, placing her back flat against his chest.

… and he had no problem about making sure he fucking delivered good, and as many times as he damn well could with her.

Sera whined quietly at the sudden change of angle and hung slack in his hold as his other arm came around to encircle her waist to keep her up. His thrusts turned to slow, concise upward drives into her, causing her to whimper. Her filthy tongue suddenly rendered mute…

"Why so quiet, sugar?" he disparaged with a triumphant smirk, "You were so _loud_ before with how much you wanted to fuck me earlier."

His palm drifted down from her shoulder to grope one of her breasts, earning a breathless moan as he massaged it in his palm.

Sera smacked her lips, trying to get them to function, as she finally spoke faintly back. "No… nobody… nobody has fucked me like this… in a long time…" she sucked in a breath, her voice breaking as if the woman was on the verge of tears. "Oh…by the Gods… it's been _so_ long… since someone has cared…"

He ignored her emotional avowal, her words doing nothing for him but putting more coals on the fire of his already inflamed ego.

"Oh, you poor thing…" he commented back, mocking her distress in a dark jest. "Nobody? Not even" — he raised a deliberate eyebrow and clicked his tongue into her ear— " _Me_?"

Already having a hard time breathing, she could only shake her head at him, answering him and making him sneer with triumph; preening that he had won and beaten his aged doppelganger at what had been his goal in the first place. It gave him a further desire to want to have it all: take his bounties, his job for the Kahn and whatever else he could sink his teeth into. He wanted it all— in the end he'd be the accomplished bounty hunter he strived to be. Not sitting at the kids table in Outworld; planted unfairly into a future where he had to start all over again.

He growled against her hair, his cock pulsing inside her as pearls of sweat rolled down his body…

It could wait for now, right now, he was content with settling on taking his woman…

He stepped an inch away from the table, bringing her along with him so his other hand could pull back across her stomach and lowered down, his finger finding her clit and drawing circles.

Her hand grabbed his forearm the same time she gasped and leaned her head back, holding onto him. Black smoothed the pad of his finger along her bud while still spearing his cock in her from behind— pulling out slowly, leaving only the head in, before curtly lifting into her; each sharp entrance earning a feminine grunt as soon as he hilted. He smiled at her; she had been good to him (minus her annoying joke), more so than what he ever expected and decided to reward her for showing him a nice time…

"Gimme another…" he told her, stroking her clit more adamantly; causing her to catch her breath in her throat. "Cum on my cock and make up for the lost time, darlin'."

Sera choked out a moan as he brushed a strong semi-circle against her, her body echoing in favor as he felt her cunt growing tighter around every inch of him. He picked up speed, fixating on a debilitating tempo to work in alliance to his spinning finger that had her struggling to collect air.

Her hand tightened around his forearm, her voice pitching up into begging whimpers that gave him mangled instructions that only consisted of 'please, yes, and I'm close' over and over with no sense of pattern on how they tumbled out. He didn't hear most of them, although he responded back, fucking her harder into her drenched, fluttering cunt…

Erron huffed brokenginly into her shoulder… he was getting close again, but he bit it back down. His lungs burned as he inhaled air through his teeth; only taking in the smallest amount of oxygen, fearing any more would be enough to spark and incinerate his willpower to hold back. He stroked harder on her clit, trying to get her to her peak faster so he could get to his…

He growled out a groan, burying his teeth into her shoulder to muffle it as his hand gripped down tighter on her breast… and it was the pin that needed to be pulled as he felt her climax detonate around him.

Her back arched against him as she cried towards the ceiling, the back of her head resting on his opposite shoulder. Erron grunted hoarsely into her skin, her cunt unbearably tight and searing hot around him as he continued to ride her through her dwindling shockwave. He felt his patience reaching its end like the final second tick on a clock as soon as she flooded him with her cum. He had been pent up all fucking day… waiting to fuck her… and he was ready to get his reward...

Sera, her legs as sturdy as a newborn calf, suddenly pulled away from him, only able to do so with him being distracted. She turned in his hold, his cock falling from her and placed her hands flat against his chest to push him away slightly from the table.

"What the fu— "

Erron couldn't help but grow indignant, he was almost ready to pull out to cum on her back…

But then she was on her knees in front of him, taking him back into her mouth…

Oh— oh _FUCK_ —

His hands came to the back of her skull, threading harshly in her hair. Not to be purposely dominant, but just because his knees buckled, the floor disappearing under him, and he needed something as an anchor as she sucked unexpectedly on him.

He rolled his eyes into the back of his head…

Fucking _SHIT_.

Her hand came up as she pulled her mouth away, running her hand along his achingly hard cock, soaked and varnished from her cum and mouth. He met her eyes, knowing she was looking at him, and she licked her lips slow and deliberately at him.

"Where do you want it?" she asked, panting up at him as she ran her hand up and down his shaft.

A breath barely exhaled out, escaping out from a grin as he looked down at her… what a fucking generous woman…

"Lady’s choice…" was all he could say, letting her pick since he didn't have the brain function to pause and decide. Still, she picked the one he was hoping for in the back of his mind…

She took him back in her mouth and his hand tightened in her hair, an unapologetic loud groan coming up from his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, swallowing down patches of air down his dry throat as she hummed around his cock and worked him towards the climax that was hanging by fingertips off a cliff… and starting to slip…

"G-Good… g-gir—fuck…" he couldn't even finish his sentence before he felt his stomach flex painfully, scolding warmth shooting down to his loins and igniting white hot through him before racing back up and he was cumming down her throat.

Erron could barely hear himself, and he wondered if he went both deaf and blind for a brief second, before the sound of the quietest groan he had ever issued exited out as he finished off in her mouth. Her hand ran down his thigh, almost tenderly, as she kept her other hand and lips still attached to his him; a harlot moan buzzing along his cock as she swallowed his load.

He came down eventually from his euphoric payoff, his eyes opening and closing languidly as his breathing regulated back to its normal cadence. Sera still remained attached to him, her own demeanor one of mild contentment as she kept her lips attached to the head longer than what was necessary; simply savoring the taste of him as something to do while they both ambled down from their sexual residuals.

Erron hadn't expected her to stay as long, but still she continued to coax her tongue along, forgoing any pause for a breather between rounds. He wondered if she was waiting for him to initiate or say something. It seemed she had no intention of leaving, and the words that he had in mind, turned into liquid in his mouth and he could do nothing but use it to coat his dry throat the more he felt himself working back up to another round.

Black gave her a small grin as he gazed down at her. The woman still lapped affection, her delicate suckling causing him to let out a rumbling hum from the back of his throat.

"Keep at that and I'll get hard for ya again," the gunslinger cajoled, the faintest hint of jest in his otherwise serious statement.

She gave a low _'hmm'_ , slipping his cock from her mouth to reply: "That's the idea, honey."

He gave out an airy chuckle in response. "My… you are insatiable, ain't ya?

The woman flashed him with a sincere, albeit cryptic smile; her pupils dark and amorous up at him: "For you… you have no idea."

Erron couldn't help but pause at her words, the hand that had been threading through her hair coming to a stilted caress at the chocolate-coated, yet tenderly zealous tone her words carried. There was a mushy quality to it he didn't like; as if she was speaking in a loving devotion to her husband. Then, as before, she distracted him, kissing her way up his torso until she was standing and attaching once again to his neck.

This night had gone better than he could have hoped for, despite the unpleasant first impression that had roused his suspicions. Erron waiting for the other shoe to drop...

"I'd knew I'd like you more…" she whispered into his ear, her words melodious and warm-hearted. He gave a crooked grin, but then felt himself frown lightly when she didn't leave it at that…

"I'd knew you'd be the one for me…the _only_ one for me," she sighed lovingly into his neck, her arms snaking around his shoulders before pressing him to her in a needy embrace. Securing him to her as tight as a corset.

His hands came up, grabbing around her wrists to pull her arms from his shoulders; feeling a bit suffocated by both her body and her odd phrase that carried a sickly fawning quality. Just like the one moments ago, it was too smarmy; so laced with sugar he could feel his teeth rotting at the thought of replaying her words in his head. His brows drew together at the same time she left his neck to gaze at his reaction, sensing his sudden aversion.

She studied him; a perplexing wincing expression creeping over her once pleasant demeanor as if she was afraid she had said too much. There was also a self-perceptive nature, as her eyes turned away from him to look at the floor, her mouth pursing and her countenance regretful. She looked back at him, her eyes wistfully apologetic as if she understood what she had said, but also wasn't surprised. As if… this wasn't the first time her choice of words had garnered the same guarded reaction he was giving her.

But then she shook her head at him, the corners of her mouth curving up into a smile, before she whispered: "Don't go… let me make it up to you. Let me show you..."

She hovered on an awkward pause when he didn't say anything, but then leaned forward to graze her teeth along his skin, moving and kissing languidly from his neck over his collarbones. Erron didn't much care for such ambiguousness coming from others— it nearly almost made him instantly suspicious of what their hidden motives were, and he didn't particularly like her honeyed inflections towards him.

Sera licked a line down his torso, making him sigh pleasurably at the feel of her tongue on his hot skin…

But, at the same time, she didn't give him a bad reason to dislike her or feel he needed to leave just yet. Maybe she was just terrible with words, which were as harmless as she was. If she did have another agenda, it simply seemed that it was to keep him there for another go; to take pleasure in him again.

Her breasts pressed against him, her mouth again at his throat sucking at his skin and making him lean his head back to give her more access.

And well, he couldn't say it was a terrible motive; one he'd be happy to indulge her in… as many times as she wanted.

She walked him backwards, her small hands pushing against the planes of his chest, as she kissed him; her tongue coaxing his until he felt the back of his thighs hit the edge. She gave him a hard push on his chest, but instead of falling backwards like she wanted, he stayed rooted like an oak. She pulled back from his mouth, frowning with worry again before she let out a squeak when he picked her up, spun her and deposited her on the bed on her back.

Sera laughed and beamed at him at the same time he climbed on top to initiate another round. Her legs opened for him as he settled against her body as her hands trailed down his back.

"Can I wear the hat? Please? He never let me wear it," she asked, nibbling on her bottom lip as his teeth scratched along her throat.

He gave a half-smirk into her shoulder. "Make it up to me like you said and maybe next round I might…"

"Alright. Next round," she agreed giddily. Her hands came up to grab the side of his face, making him look at her. "And all the ones after that…until you're mine…"

Black was going to ask what she meant, but the words died as soon as her peppermint flavored lips connected with his and managed to erase the sentence from his mind. He moved his mouth against hers, doing his best to ignore the biting mint that flavored her lips as she moaned into his mouth and they started another round…

…And both of them too distracted to notice shadows creeping underneath the door; two forms blocking out the dwindling light at the bottom of the wood door that didn't connect to the floor.

On the outside of the door, stood the older Erron Black and Mera.

The healer, now wearing her twin sister's favorite cobalt dress, leaned against the doorframe; her arms crossed over her chest while Black craned his head towards the wood; pausing in silence to listen as he opened a simple tan sack— one usually reserved for coins.

He placed a folded note inside before he looked to the healer and lifted a hand; his fingers bending and motioning for her to hand over what was she was holding.

Mera blew a quiet raspberry and gave over the small red canister of healing ointment to the gunslinger.

He pocketed into the sack and pulled it tight with the drawstring before the mercenary hung it over the nail above the door frame; the bag hanging so obviously it couldn't be missed.

He grinned before he turned away from the door, his attention fixed on Mera who gave him a doubtful shake of her head.

"How do we even know he is still in there with Sera?" she whispered, her demeanor one of repugnance as soon as she said her twin's name.

On cue, the sound of the healer's sister letting out a delighted squeal and the younger Erron's dark laughter, caused both of them to look to the door; the ruckus loud and clear of what was happening on the inside.

Black wiggled his eyebrows at the same time the healer rolled her eyes. "It doesn't sound like your younger self is having such a _bad_ time."

The gunslinger smirked evilly. "Night's still young, darlin'. She'll have him sore and annoyed by sun up . Guarantee it." Erron frowned. "She never did stop talkin'."

"Well damn it…" Mera grumbled slightly as they both began to walk away from the healer's former house.

"Why the sad look on your face?" Black questioned. "Thought ya' wanted her here for your own little _vendetta_."

Mera picked up a single, indifferent shoulder at him. "I do. I was hoping he would have broken her heart by now and left already so I could go in there and get back my dress from her."

He smiled, his eyes traveling over her immodest attire; the crushed blue velvet had more revealing slits than it covered skin. "I happen to think ya look mighty _fine_ in blue."

The healer scoffed, giving him a derisive frown; unamused. " _Blue_ is Sera's favorite color and that's why I can't stand it. But I am sure you already knew that."

The Kahn's guard let out a small laugh, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as he walked her in the direction of the palace. "Quit gripin'. I'll buy ya another damn dress if it makes you happy."

Mera gave him a pointed look. "You will," she asserted. "That red one was my favorite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing to say except that I hoped you liked it...?


	3. The Other Shoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no sexy-time in here.

* * *

** Mirror Match   
** **Chapter 3  
** _**The Other Shoe** _

* * *

_**Earlier...** _

Inside her bleak house, the healer packaged the last of her bottled herbs and medical pomades into a simple wicker basket. The rest of her belongings also in identical baskets strewn about the room _—_ all four of them. Mera was never one to hoard, but it was still a little sad to see that most of her possessions didn't require that much packing. All of her outer-character, what she loved to wear and collect, could be piled and carried away easily. Every other necessity had been exchanged for her work; most of the baskets were filled with her tools, but it was what she preferred. Her work was more important.

The only thing that didn't get packed, was the linens on her bed. There was no need _—_ her new job at the palace would provide her with sheets for her new bed.

It had been one of the many unforeseen perks to sleeping with Erron Black. She had been after a position in the Kahn's palace for some time but could never find a single person to express her desire or demonstrate her skills and medical savvy. She was knowledgeable _—_ she had been a good student in her early academics _—_ but when she did find someone from the palace to talk to, they usually brushed her off. Either not impressed with her by first appearances, in a rush to get somewhere, or simply just did not care to speak with her at all. She had tried for years, and eventually, it amounted to nothing but being an exasperating waste of time.

After a while, she had forgotten about trying to get the job _—_ feeling as if it was a boat long since sailed. But Black, quite unexpectedly, (maybe just to make conversation) had asked her why she was in a rundown little shack instead of healing on the other side of the Kahn's walls.

So, since he asked, she expressed she _desperately_ wanted to but could never get past the walls for an interview. Erron, even though he knew it was bait on the other end of a fisherman's line, had surprised her when he had nodded and said: 'Go ahead and start packin' up.'

The healer hadn't failed to catch the deceptively devious tone he had used when he had instructed her to do so a few days ago. The healer had no doubt he flashed his guns to throw out her name as a recommendation and used a bullet to seal the deal.

Mera couldn't really say she preferred his methods, even if guns did work, but at this point, she couldn't say she cared anymore. She really did want the job and thought it suitable recompense for the times they ignored her requests. Plus, she knew that Erron Black didn't do anything he didn't want to. He was friendless and selfish for a reason, and she knew it.

Her brown eyes landed on the cowboy's hat on the neatly made bed, and she felt the corner of her mouth tug up in a smile unwantedly.

But he could be a decent man at times, even if it was only on rare occasions with nobody else around to see he had a soft spot.

She'd simply offer her 'thanks' and they would both move on. Besides, she may as well use the perks of having him under her thumb while she could _—_ even if it meant playing along with him that she was under his. The healer knew that he would get bored of her eventually and move on to his next skirt-wearing conquest soon, but at least she'd have her long sought-after occupation in the end. Mera couldn't really say she was getting the short end of the bargain.

However, she also knew that him helping her get the job also meant she was indebted to him for a favor, even if he didn't voice it outright; they both knew without having him to say anything.

At first, she thought it was going to be something sexual considering him and his one-track mind (when it wasn't focused on coins), but had still been adamantly surprised again when he was cashing in on it to aid her against his younger self stalking her doorway.

It hadn't escaped her notice the way his youthful reflection looked at them with an ugly jealous eye, and though she was curious about Past-Black, she also trusted him less—especially with the way that the older Erron seemed to reciprocate the same feeling. He would know best —it was him after all.

She also didn't believe the elder Erron when he said he wouldn't kill her. It was simply easier to assume the worst than take others at their word, no matter who they were — an Outworld philosophy that held true for , if he didn't want to before, he would certainly after tonight; just as a way to get back at his older self.

So with that in mind, after his silent idea had been proposed, Mera was willing to comply with what he wanted for as a favor, knowing she wouldn't have to worry about his younger self any further. And thank the Gods, she could barely handle one of them let alone _two_ of them.

She felt a twinge of soreness between her legs and sighed, while her fingers reached down in the basket and plucked out one of her homemade healing salves for herself. She overstocked the basket almost always; the girls at The Anchor wouldn't notice her keeping one. Besides Black, the whores of The Anchor were her best customers nowadays. Before, The House of Dusk and three other brothels had been where she made her money…

The healer's eyes narrowed contemptuously.

... at least a month ago they had been. Before her twin sister, Sera, had ruined her reputation as a healer in a petty and childish act of spitefulness.

For some reason, one that Mera would _never_ understand, Sera had always been infatuated with Erron Black— more than any other man she leeched on to for hope of escaping her life for something grander than a prostitute. Ever since the first time he went to the brothel as just a customer, Sera had grown more and more persistent in her pursuit of him, but predictably, he always rebuffed her; it was a one-sided attraction.

He was there for a service, to scratch his own itch, and certainly not looking to whisk a woman away — a fantasy she often longed for since her home was the House of Dusk. Mera knew there was more to it though. Sera had a need to satiate her never satisfied appetite to be wanted and to prove she was better than others, and she considered she could find both in a powerful and rich man.

Erron Black certainly wasn't the first man she had tried it with, but each time she failed, Sera grew more desperate to make sure she succeeded the next time; causing her to come off as even more neurotic. Unfortunately, Mera wished she could say it was just an act rather than genuine, but she knew it was the latter.

Sera never did handle rejection well, and Erron had been her most recent. This time, however, she wasn't taking no for an answer. There was just something about Black that made her pursue him all the more; a consuming need that flittered logic away and rooted an impossible idea into the woman's mind that Erron was truly the one for her.

Mera rolled her eyes.

Sera had lost her mind.

Unfortunately, she couldn't say her twin's behavior surprised her. This was yet another song and dance, just with a different partner, and Mera had lost track of how many times she did this with her customers. Sera was always impetuous, emotionally unstable, and vain in thinking that her looks could get her whatever and whoever she wanted.

The healer sighed, shaking her head.

What her twin never understood though was it was her behavior, not her looks, that drove the men she wanted away. She was too obsessive, and while would do anything to please them, was also ironically selfish too.

Mera didn't really believe that her sister loved her clients like she said she did, because what she yearned for was a false image of an emotion she could never feel. She wanted total devotion to her, to be doted on, but was emotionally incapable of returning it back though she placated she could. Sadly, Mera had a feeling it wasn't to be manipulative, far from it. Sera just had an askew view of it.

But when Sera reflected back she never saw any of that, no matter how many times Mera had wanted to tell her, to help her… to love her. Mera had tried— many times— to be by her side. She wasn't ashamed of her sister or her chosen profession, Mera was fine with it; most of her friends and clients were prostitutes and she never once judged them. Outworld was harsh, and they were all doing what was necessary to survive.

She only wished Sera could see that she just wanted to be there for her. Instead, her twin always directed her shortcomings on to her. Mera was always the blame for everything in her life.

Mera understood why she thought that way, but didn't appreciate it. Sera was jealous of her success and sense of normalcy — never understanding why she didn't have the same. Sera always hated her after their childhood had long since passed, and it made a tear fall from the healer's eye.

They had been so close once… they had once been true sisters. But it all changed once they had gotten older, and Mera longed to turn the clock back. To be children again, just so her sibling didn't hate her so much.

It had been a gradual thing, but it became worse since the unexpected passing of their mother.

Over time, the more Mera had tried to be a good sister to her, the more the healer began to hate her twin back when she got nothing but contempt in return for her efforts. She had still loved her, but it had felt hollow for the past few decades; they were merely tolerated acquaintances.

Mera gripped the canister a bit too tight, causing pain in her own hand.

What Sera did recently, however, solidified her resentment finally. Now she felt nothing but antipathy towards her twin.

Beyond just physical attraction and his money, the healer honestly couldn't understand why Sera wanted Erron Black so much — especially when he didn't make it a secret that he wanted nothing from her besides sex. Still, she grew needy for him, and it turned bizarre. He was a sought after, golden prize, more so than the past attempts to find a husband.

So, when Erron started to see Mera instead, finding out from another whore that she had seen him at her house, Sera just couldn't take it. Black was supposed to be her's and it didn't even matter that she hadn't even started to sleep with him at first — he was really there just to work out the knots in his back — but just him walking in her door and paying with coins that were supposed to be Sera's was enough to make her twin snap.

So, irrationally jealous, Sera went after the only thing Mera loved the most— her job—and spread despicable rumors that her remedies didn't work. Attacking the ones that specifically pertained to her supplies that she sold to the brothels — where she made the gross of her funds.

Mera had found out eventually from another woman what she had said: that her contraceptive teas were inept and contributed to unwanted pregnancies resulting in stillborn or deformed children. Another rumor was that her healing balms resulted in allergic reactions. In conjunction, Sera had told others that she had seen Mera mix all kinds of rotten and disgusting things like her own urine and fecal matter into her remedies because 'they were just whores and deserved it, anyway.'

Of course, none of it was true, but because she was her blood relative, people believed her. Word spread fast among the brothels, which had been her only customers at the time, and she lost a _lot_ of business overnight.

But it wasn't just her spreading lies that had hurt… it was the fact that she had sullied what was once her good name. Now everyone she came across all thought she was incompetent in the profession that she had worked hard at and strived to be successful at.

Besides the picture of the twins that the gunslinger had taken from her stand, the only good memory the twins had of each other before their relationship went downhill, there was nothing else that Mera had kept precious to her, and Sera had taken it from her…

All because Erron Black liked her more than her sister.

It could have been easy to do so, but Mera didn't blame Erron for what resulted. Sera spread the rumor, not him, and if it wasn't for the mercenary filling her coin purse for the past month, she would have been homeless and starved.

To say Mera wanted to get even, was an understatement. It was really one of the catalysts that made her agree to sleep with him; to get back at her sister. But then, she did end up liking him. He was good in bed, but it still never felt as adequate revenge.

So, she was happy to take Black up on his plan and let her sister get her heart broken _twice_ when Sera found out that in the end both gunslingers wanted _nothing_ to do with her. That nobody, not even her own sister, wanted anything to do with her.

There was just one thing she had to do, and no matter how much she didn't want to go there, the House of Dusk was to be her first stop, since it also happened to be the same place she would have to ask for her _favor_ from Sera.

The woman sat the white canister holding the balm for herself to the side for a moment, placing it on the bare wooden table next to a label-less oblong emerald bottle and pulled another canister, this one red, (both of the latter bottles reserved for tonight), before she reached back into the basket.

With reluctance, she fished out a gold necklace; the chain connected with intersecting pearls of carnelian stone that tapered down to a gold medallion with a larger orange stone set in the middle.

It was her mother's and the last thing she had of her. It never suited well with Mera that their mother had given it to her instead; clearly expressing who was the favorite child in her last dying breaths. Their mother always did prefer one child over the other, and Mera never did enjoy getting the attention that Sera desperately craved.

" _I never asked the Elder Gods for a daughter who is a whore. At least one won't bring shame on the family name."_

She despised it. It was nothing more than a pretty wedge with the siblings. One she'd be glad to be rid of now she had a reason to depart from it. She felt guilty about hanging on to it for so long, but it had been their mother's last wish that Mera kept it only. It was cruel, but she kept her word, despite the necklace meant really nothing to her.

She honestly hated having it, especially knowing that Sera was waiting on her daily with what she possessed that the other wanted and would do anything for; despite their foul relationship with each other.

" _I'll do anything just let me have our mother's necklace."_

Her hand crushed it as if it was an animal she wanted to choke to death.

She never could. Not without a good reason to, but now Mera owed Erron, and had an excuse suitable enough to finally rid herself of the abhorrent thing. That was the payment: to give Sera the necklace in exchange for sleeping with the younger Erron Black. And giving it over, ignoring their mother's dying breaths to keep it, was her payment to Erron for getting her the job. A favor for a favor.

A knock came at the door, causing her to press her lips together as it deterred her from her thoughts the necklace brought. Mera placed the necklace back inside the basket, setting it on the bed near Black's hat, before she walked over to the knob. She paused before she turned it, reluctant. She knew it was Erron Black on the other side of the door, but it was impossible to tell which one.

The woman let out a sigh of relief when she saw the elder Black on the other side who didn't wait for an invitation to enter her house. She closed it behind her, but not before looking towards the alley where she had seen his younger self the other day watching them.

"I'm surprised he's not outside," she commented, leaning against the closed door with her arms crossed as he surveyed the packed baskets.

Erron let out a sharp gust of air through his lips from behind his mask. A quiet scoff at her words. "He's at the bar sampilin' for something decent and eavesdroppin' on leads to bounties he thinks I ain't spry enough to catch."

"Is that what you did when you first arrived here?" Mera asked him, raising a singular eyebrow as she eyed the bed. "When you weren't… _elsewhere_?"

The mercenary's eyes glinted humorously at her implication before his eyes slid over to her and then back to the hat on the bed. "Just about," he confirmed unapologetically.

The woman let out a small murmur, one barely able to pass through her tight-pressed lips, before her brow furrowed in thought — one she had from the night previous but forgot to address to him.

"I will admit I do not know how this.. _. time merger_ works exactly, but I have a question," she voiced.

"What is it?"

Her eyes landed on the firearms in his holsters.

"Couldn't your younger self kill _you_ and still remain present? But, if you were to kill your younger self, you would both perish?"

A tense silence followed as soon as she finished the last word and noticed the morose but agitated way his eyes clouded darkly over. As if she had brought up a noticeable flaw in his own character that even the egotistical man couldn't help but let get to him. His silence provided the sullen answer.

"Does he know that?" she prodded, feeling somewhat sorry for the short-end he received and guilty for asking.

Black's eyes shifted to the side, a silent exhale escaping from behind his mask the same time his shoulders lowered. "Don't reckon yet— and he ain't gonna."

Her brow furrowed into a hard line, though her expression was still sympathetic. "And when he _does_ realize it?"

Black used his thumb to crack the knuckle of his pointer finger; the light popping of the bone signaling to her his annoyance at the subject. "Cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Why not just leave him be then?" she questioned. "Why anger him? Cause this _will_ anger him."

The gunfighter gave her an annoyed, pointed look. "You wanna fuck him or do you want him off your tail? He'll be here tonight whether you want it or not."

Mera arms tightened across her chest, choosing not to answer; it was redundant.

"Besides," he added, "he's been pissin' me off lately. Lockin' sights on my things and bounties. The cocky little shit needs to be taken down a peg and learn that when he's in _my_ future… he'll get whatever hand-me-downs I decide to toss out."

She nodded her head minutely at him, biting the side of her cheek as she let his words sink in. The woman caught the crimson-colored cloth held in his hand, and she allowed herself a snicker. Feeling that it was a decent enough distraction to break away from the melancholy mood she set them into.

"Did you miss your hat so dearly that you went and purchased a shawl for your head, instead? It's a nice color, Erron. It should complement your eyes well."

He narrowed his eyes at her, his amusement at her joke resting on a momentary delay before he chuckled lightly at her from behind his mask. The sarcastic laugh sounding like it was echoing around in a barrel. He picked up his hat from the bed, turning it over in his hand — as if inspecting for any new transgression against the worn leather — before he sauntered over to her with both.

Black placed the hat back on his head, and before she could object, he flopped the shawl across the top of her head. He pulled at the cornered ends and tied it under her chin in a loose knot. Mera looked at him pointedly, her eyebrows lifted so far up they almost touched the hem of the fabric. She couldn't say the bright red color complimented the burgundy of her dress that well, and she waited for him to offer an explanation in silence.

"To help with the illusion, Little Miss Ridin' Hood, until you pass it along. Your sister will look good in red," he informed, his fingers coming up to pinch the ends of the shawl to give it a jesting tug.

Mera's lips parted, a question poised to spill out, but pressed them back together and nodded her head in understanding. She brought her hand to push the shawl from her forehead to rest along the back of her neck.

"I see. But I thought you said he wasn't watching us?"

Erron raised an eyebrow, and despite that his mask covered his face, she could sense the frown behind his mask. "Bar's across the street. Think you'd remember that with how many broken-nosed drunken nobody's' that comes limpin' through your door."

The corner of Mera's mouth tugged bitterly to the side; it wasn't hard — though she tried —to forget about all the drunken miscreants-turned-clients that pooled in after fights. Either needing bones re-set, blood stopped and egos shattered when she flat out rejected them; their drunken stupor misinforming them that they could spew bold flirtatious idiocy that they think worked.

They also seldom paid anything, too stupid or too drunk to remember to do so and left before she could get her coins from them. It was another thing she was looking forward to not dealing with after tonight when she finally left her drab little house for good.

Black looked around the small house as well, taking in the bare walls and floor that made it feel more like a mausoleum than a dwelling. His eyes landed on the green, opaque bottle on the table next to the balm he knew all too well from his visitations to the House of Dusk.

His hat tipped towards her, eyeing her up and down before he unclasped his mask, letting the strap dangle from one ear. "I know why ya need the ointment, but how 'bout the other?" Black crowded up to her as his form washed a shadow over the woman's smaller frame.

"Need a hand applying your balm, darlin'?" he asked with a grin, his breath floating over the skin of her lips as he leaned forward. "Maybe later tonight? Breaking in your new bed sheets… or better yet, _mine_. They're softer."

Heat warmed and spread low in her stomach at his low drawl; each word slithering from his lips as if it was being pulled slowly along on a silk string. She bit her lip, hating herself a bit. Still, the healer's eyes crinkled in amused disbelief at his mirthful words that fell from the handsome grin he was very aware he knew he had. It never mattered how ridiculous what he said was, he knew how to use his voice to get what he wanted out of her.

And by the Gods, he thought of nothing else around her…

"I do not need as much balm as you _think_ I do, so I think I can fare just fine," she shot back, her eyes narrowed, ridiculing him sardonically. "And the other is Rishi Rosia tea for Sera. I doubled the healing dose. It'll be a.. _. long_ night for your other half. I'm surprised you don't remember what it is— the girls at the House of Dusk drink it enough."

Black's nose crinkled in disgust. "That peppermint-flavored shit that keeps them runnin' around like cats in heat all night?"

She blinked at him but smiled inwardly at his joke even if she wasn't sure what peppermint was.

"The same. I know how much you hate the taste of the tea, so I do not have my doubts he will too. Sera, on the other hand, loves it."

"So is the balm for him or her?" he questioned, an eyebrow raised, with a chuckle threatening to fall out as he smiled.

"Its merely just a message for Sera, though I'm sure he will be sore— Sera too, despite the tea," Mera's smile pulled slyly upwards, "but I wouldn't use _that_ balm if I were them. Old argeena leaves give you _quite_ the reaction if left out on the sun for long periods of time... and it was quite a hot day today."

Erron stared at her in silence before he let out a chortle of darkly amused laughter, making his body shake as his head was thrown back. A hand came under his jaw to stroke it and his eyes darkened at her as he shuffled in closer, leaning on a braced forearm placed flat against the door above her head. The cowboy pressed against her chest-to-chest, leaving her with nowhere to go; trapped between his body and the door.

"That's just downright _cruel,_ darlin'," he intoned, his voice low. He grasped under her chin lightly between his fingers, coasting his lips towards hers. "I _like_ it."

She placed a finger to his lips— stopping him in his tracks and causing him to drop his hand from her chin. Erron looking at her in annoyance and waiting for an explanation.

"I am already late," she said, her tone apathetic. "And you _still_ have not given me back my picture."

She flicked the brim of his hat with her fingers, conveying her irritancy to him, to which Black responded back with a light, amused scoff at her.

"You'll get the goddamn thing back, tonight," he promised, pinching the brim of his hat and tugging it down.

"I had better," she fumed lightly. She sighed with despondence, downcasting her eyes after a moment's pause. "It's the only thing good I'll have left of her..."

The bounty hunter picked up on her sadness, and surprisingly with tenderness not expected from someone of his deadly occupation, brought a single finger to place under her chin to lift her eyes to him. Erron gave her a stoic, yet still, understanding regard. "You frettin' about it?"

Mera blinked, taken aback by his uncharacteristic sentiment before she shook her head and scowled.

"We've stopped being sisters long ago. I'm tired of fighting with her and I just want to move on with my life. I will get _even_ and leave it at that. If she wants a reason to hate me, then I will give her one. And I'm not worried about your younger self with her. I know there are worse men than _you_ she deals with."

"Doubt it," he debated, dragging his finger with a slight flick from under her chin. He gave a slight frown as if a sudden thought sprang to mind. "She'll go for it even if it's _sorta_ me? Didn't exactly leave on best terms last time I saw her."

"I have the necklace, she'll do whatever I want her to do and not question it. You will owe me a dress by the way. This is my favorite one I'm switching with her," Mera furrowed her brow harshly, her eyes turning cold. "Although I should probably tell you, I am altering a detail of yours."

He raised a curious brow, waiting for her to continue.

"I am going to tell her your Past-self knows its Sera and is there for her, and not me. So when your other self does find out, I'm sure he'll let her know who his target _really_ was, and that once again, Erron Black wanted _me_ , and not her.

The corner of Black's mouth pulled up in a half-smirk. "You _are_ vindictive, ain't ya? Makes me glad I didn't get saddled with a sibling. Probably end up killin' each other."

Her eyes shifted to his guns, choosing not to point out the obvious joke she could make of what he said, and then back to him, shrugging.

"Regardless of last time, I know she is still infatuated with you and would take you back if you apologize," Mera bemused at him, her gaze reprimanding him lightly. "I will admit, you do owe her an apology. You _did_ shoot her, after all."

The mercenary's face dropped into an ugly, deep and somewhat comical scowl at her. "Not even on the coldest day in hell would I cozy up to that woman for warmth," he lifted a finger at her, "And I didn't _shoot_ her. She got in the way. Wasn't _my_ fault she was goddamn stupid and let the guy shove her when I was aimin' for—"

Mera's hand shot out, grabbing him by the ear and tugging hard, earning a surprised yowl from him, before she let it go and scolded. "Be _nice,_ Erron _._ She is still my sister and I am the only one with the right to call her stupid. Otherwise, you can find another set of hands for your _massages_."

He huffed at her, rubbing his ear, before he lifted an eyebrow at her, his eyes glinting with impish chastisement as he shot back: "Wouldn't be hard to find, darlin'. There's plenty of _fine_ hands at the palace that can help me out," he hummed, as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. "I already know one that's good at kneadin'."

"You are such an imbecile," Mera grumbled back with amused beratement towards him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Erron placed a single finger under her chin again, tilting it towards him and smirked arrogantly.

"You like it," was his candied chide before she allowed him to kiss her, albeit still rolling her eyes.

Besides money, she was _absolutely_ certain he thought of nothing else.

* * *

_**Present…** _

By the time the sun came up the next day, younger Erron had lost count of how many times they had sex.

As he laid in bed with her, he concluded he should have stopped after the first round. In fact, he was now regretting taking her to bed at all. He also remembered why he stuck to more dangerous women, one of the reasons being, they were not so keen on pillow talk.

He took an inhale of his cigarette, while Sera sprawled next to and on top of him. The woman running her fingers along his chest with her head on his shoulder. She babbled on, completely unaware that he wasn't even listening to her, as he sighed irately through his nostrils and stared up at the ceiling on his back with a sore cock between his legs.

Her fingers continued to caress him, and he faintly caught the glimpse of her giving him an ardent smile before planting a kiss on his chest. Clearly wanting yet _another_ round that he wasn't in the goddamn mood to give…

The corner of his lip curled up.

He should have stopped at just one damn round.

Now he was reaping the consequences of being too greedy.

The woman turned out to be a fucking succubus that wouldn't leave him alone. When he thought she had been satisfied, she still came back for more with the same hellbent energy she had when he first walked in the door.

Sometime in the middle of the night, it lost its appeal to him, but to her, it was just as strong. He couldn't recall exactly when, but he even passed out once in the middle of a round while she was on top of him; just too dead exhausted and drained, but she didn't care as long as he stayed hard for her. Erron had blinked awake just as she had finished, and he passed out fully, but not before he caught her being annoyingly giddy and content, smiling in her sleep while he laid there sore with friction burns on his shaft.

 _That_ was their last fucking round.

Sera lifted and rested her chin on his chest, her eyes studying over his face for a moment, before she gave a quiet sigh and laid it back down. She turned her gaze away from him with mild disappointment, understanding he wasn't up for another go.

The gunslinger shook his head lightly, blowing out smoke from his lips.

How the fuck was she so insatiable? He had no doubt she had to be sore too. She _had_ to be. He wasn't tender with her and in turn she wasn't with him. Erron had the scratches and a slap mark on his face to prove it. Yet, the only thing littered on her skin was a few bruises from where his fingers dug into her skin.

Maybe she was just biting through it— just to keep him there. Erron figured long ago that her stamina had something to do with the peppermint drink. It was only later did he figure out, when he noticed her relentless pursuit for more sex, that it had to contain some remedial element that not only gave energy but healed as well; allowing her to go longer.

It _had_ to be the reason why she wasn't as sore as he was — her sampling had to have been heavy — definitely much heavier than his, considering that not even Shang Tsung's magic was enough to help him out this time. He couldn't remember the last time he had been sore after sex…

Black grimaced, feeling a sharp twinge.

In all honesty, he had nobody to blame but himself. Every time he made a move for his clothes, she hooked into him, persuading him to stay, and with both of them still living off the high from the first euphoric one, he did. They were fun, but the following bouts were not nearly up to par with the first amazing one, as his stamina and the thrill dwindled with each round of fucking.

He should have stopped at just one goddamn round.

The woman ran her fingers along his chest again, her mouth opening to spew another story that was falling on deaf ears that she didn't notice.

Erron rolled his eyes.

Unfortunately, sex wasn't the only bit of annoyance he had throughout the night with her…

While the night carried on, the little worm of suspicion he had earlier returned and wiggled about in his mind again. Telling him he should have left as soon as he walked in the door and noticed the little things about her that were off from what he had seen the day before.

It wasn't until after round 3 did he notice even _more_ things about Sera that began to peel away and reveal more of her character.

Her biggest fault, when she dropped the slut-act between sex-capades, was how dimwitted she seemed. The woman was as interesting as dirt and chirped more than a cricket. All she talked to him in bed was about herself and the mundane things about Outworld she encountered daily.

Little, everyday occurrences, about her life in the realm that he had no interest in: like her favorite food stand and feuds with local vendors over the price of a dress and jewelry. It was as if she had nobody to talk to about her dull little life with, as if she had no friends, and it had all been bottled up until now. Unfortunately, seeing as he was still here with her, somehow gave her permission to uncork and spill everything about her life; becoming the unwilling listening recipient.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, squinting his eyes.

He didn't. Fucking. _CARE._

When he did talk, it was brief, and mostly he answered questions she asked before the conversations always turned back to being a bit one-sided. Meanwhile, he drifted off into his own thoughts, ignoring her while she rattled on with nonsense — the sound of her voice getting annoying quickly.

It would have been enough to get him to leave, but she had a perceptive gift, much to his displeasure. Sera could always sense when he was reaching the end of his patience with her and then changed the subject to something far more… _physical_. Keeping him there against his better judgment. She was good at her persuasive, flirty banter, and it somehow, and unfortunately drew him in like a fly to dead meat. Sex was the only reason he stayed when he knew he should have left long ago.

He sighed through his nose, eyeing his pants on the floor with her head on his chest and an arm draped across him while he dragged at his cigarette. Only remaining there until he finished since he just lit it when he woke up and was waiting for exhaustion to leave his body. Although, he considered just getting up to get away from her…

"Oh…" she let out a giggle. "That reminds me…"

He glared up at the ceiling, expelling a curt, annoyed sigh through his nose.

She wouldn't. Stop. Fucking. _Talking_.

But even though he had no interest in her life, there had been some useful things in her conversation he did pick up. Strange things, that made him think twice again if she was a healer or not after all.

For instance, how she didn't even seem to have basic knowledge of anatomy. She asked about a faint scar he had on his neck, and just to make small talk, he had told her how an arrowhead had nearly sliced opened his carotid artery. She had blinked in confusion and asked: "What's that?"

Erron didn't even remember if he finished telling the story or not. It had halted him. She should know what it was— she was a fucking healer. However, Sera too had picked up on her mistake and her hand went straight down, working his cock until it was ready for another round. That was back at round 4… or maybe 6… he couldn't fucking remember anymore.

Whatever the number, it was the last round (the round he had fallen asleep) and woke up sore. He should have just gotten up from the bed and left her before they started, but she was exceptionally good at persuading him to continue. Her dirty talk was her best — and only — talent. Other than her appetite, looks, and skills — he could not fucking stand her.

What the fuck did his older self see in her?

Erron stared dark and silently up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed minutely in thought.

That… was a _very_ good, goddamn question now he had more time to think about it. Throughout the night, it nagged at him over and over. Constantly he mulled it over in his head trying to find an answer to the riddle. But he could never think of an answer that made sense, and it further baffled him.

However, he sure as shit knew that his older self wouldn't put up with such an annoying fucking woman either, and from his aged doppelganger's demeanor he had seen in the doorway the other day, he knew he wouldn't have acted so congenial towards her; so flirty. Something wasn't adding up. Everything he had encountered had been such an opposite.

Maybe it had all been a ruse to bait the younger gunslinger all along, as if he had known he had been watching them. Perhaps that was why he hadn't shown up last night like he had been expecting; barging in and catching him in the act like Hickok had done with Coe and Jessie one night.

Or maybe he didn't give a shit about her anymore. Erron honestly couldn't blame his older self and he wondered if she truly did get shot because she got in the way of his bounty or his older self shot her because she was such an irritating little chatterer…

He locked on his gun on the other side of the room, laying by the table where he had dropped it and tugged the corner of his mouth to the side. She chortled about something, and the sound traveling to his ears was about as pleasant as someone banging a metal pot with a stick loudly in repetition next to his ear…

Probably the latter.

If it was the case, then he knew that sleeping with her to get back at him was a waste of time in the end. His older self wouldn't give a shit, and it further irked the younger gunslinger.

He hadn't done anything but make himself sore.

But… there was also another thing in regard to the woman he couldn't put his finger on. Something relating back to her character and her supposed profession as a healer. Even though he thought it was redundant now, there was something that continued to bother him about her that just wouldn't go away. He got another clue of it while she continued to prattle. She was telling him a story of a fellow co-worker that had been short-changed, and when she refuted it to the guy, he beat her up badly…

It raised another red flag with him — more than any of the other junk she had uttered before…

Her story… sounded too much like a common whore-house tale.

"We didn't think she would even wake up, but she did eventually. I think it was rather stupid of her. She should have just taken what she got and let Boss deal with it later. What do you think?"

Erron placed his cigarette in his mouth, pinching it between his lips before he grumbled irritably: "I _think…"_

He grabbed her wrist and swung it off with a callous pull of her arm from his chest. Allowing him to finally get up from the bed. "... that I don't really care."

Sera didn't say anything, but the gunfighter could still feel her eyes on the back of his skull as he collected his clothes around the room. It wasn't until he started shimmying into his pants, ignoring the pain between his legs that was aggravated each time he moved, did he hear her get up; the bed creaking in protest with her movements.

Black managed to step into his boots and buckle his belt before she was on him again, draping her arms across his shoulders from the back and crossing her wrists on top of each other across his collarbones. She pressed her naked chest into him, her nails running along his skin as she pulled her arms back and trailed them over his shoulders. If he wasn't in such a fetid mood he might say her scratching lightly across his skin was pleasant, but at the moment, he despised her touch; he had plenty of it for one night.

"I had a very nice time," she whispered affectionately in his ear, leaning her head against his shoulder blade. "Will you come to see me again?"

His expression fouled at the thought, and he blew an impatient cloud of smoke from his lips when he pulled the cigarette from his lips. He'd rather take a kick to the balls than climb into her sheets again.

"No," was his blunt, unsympathetic, and very honest answer. He slapped the leather of his belt into the loops with a curt tug before he walked out of her arms and retrieved the gun he had dropped by the table.

He had put the tobacco out against the surface and had holstered it when he heard her strides behind him and her hands land on his shoulders again, replaying the same loving devotion as if she hadn't even heard his blunt answer.

"That was mean," she let out a listless chuckle as she kissed the back of his shoulder and felt her smile against his skin. "But I know you weren't serious, so I forgive you."

Erron shrugged crudely, throwing her hands off him, as he stalked towards his shirt and quickly threw it on while marching for his hat and jacket by the bed next.

Thankfully, she didn't pursue him this time, and instead ducked under the table to retrieve her dress. By the time he had his gloves on, his jacket zipped, and his hat on his head, she was on him _again._ This time he spun into her— the woman already waiting for him dressed when he turned on his heel.

Sera smiled sickenly saccharine up at him, her arms already coming up to wrap around his shoulders again. The moment they landed on him, his eyes narrowed dangerously at her. Erron thoroughly annoyed by her obtuseness.

"I am _serious_ ," she verified, and though her smile didn't fade, the twinkle in her eyes did as if she already knew his answer. Still, she asked, hopeful. "Will you see me again? Please?"

He shook his head in disbelief at her, irked and remorseless that she was _still_ persisting. How many goddamn hints did he have to give?

" _NO_ ," he reiterated, his reply as warm as a biting arctic wind that made her flinch visibly. Finally understanding. His hands came up to grab both her wrists and threw them off carelessly. "Now fucking drop it."

Sera took a step back from him, a look of bafflement on her face before it crimped into a flash of brief anger at him. Good, she finally got it...

But aggravatingly, she painted on a forced pleasant expression at him again, though her eyes became glassy and still held the faintest bit of resentment towards him. "You don't mean that. We had a nice time… and I… I want to see you again… and I know you want to see me again too. How could you not?"

Black regarded her admission indifferently, a brief flicker of annoyance in his eyes before he rose an eyebrow at her…

But then he smiled tauntingly, a cruel joke springing to mind.

His voice and expression grew sweet, placating a pleasant tune. "Oh but darlin'... you _will_ see me again…"

Expectantly, she got optimistic at his words, her hands coming up to wipe a loose tear that escaped. "Really? Oh Erron that makes me so happ—"

He interrupted her, his visage turning blunt and cold. "When _OLD_ me stops by and you let 'em know how _I_ dropped by to pay you a _ONE_ night stand. Remember? Like you said you would."

Her cheerful expression fell at his words almost instantly, and after a tense moment of silence, letting his words sink in, she blinked back more tears as she looked at him totally rejected. His words mutilating her gullible faith. "You're… you're not coming back? I thought… I thought you would. I was good to you…

He scoffed at her. "You can't really be that naive."

By the fresh coat of tears he watched fall down her face, he was wrong.

Although he had hoped that she would be somewhat crestfallen when he finally left, serving as yet another emotional tool to use against his other self when he saw just how much his departure meant to her, this was too much.

It was as if she had come in expecting a relationship with him when they were done and was behaving like a child denied a toy when she didn't get her way. It was a bit sad how poorly she handled being denied. Erron didn't get it — or give a shit— honestly. She even told him she would see his older self later the night before, boasting how she would make him jealous. So why was she getting so upset about it?

He sighed derisively at her. "Jesus Christ, woman, enough with the crocodile tears," he spat. "You goddamn knew what this was."

Her demeanor darkened at him, her eyes blazing with instant malice that reminded him of a pissed off harpy before her hand shot out and slapped him soundly across the face.

The gunslinger's head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging and turning red, but he still smirked lightly; his expression dripping with dark gratification. It wasn't a surprise. He had expected her to slap him at one point or another. He had pictured her doing it long ago when he ran over scenarios in the bar, knowing that she would be hurt by his leaving.

He was going to goad about it, say something sly and demeaning, but then she did something he didn't expect.

Sera dropped to her knees, her face filled with panic. She clutched her hands at his belt, digging her fingers in between the leather and the denim to fishhook her hold to him. She shook her head at him, blubbering and crying as he immediately recoiled, his hands already at her fingers trying to pry them off.

"No-No-No— I'm sorry… Please don't leave me— I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did that— I didn't mean it. Please just stay"— she buried her head into his hips, spilling tears into his lower stomach and soaking them into the jacket.

He snarled in irritation, trying to wiggle out of her grip, but every time he managed to get free, she latched on again like a frantic cat trying to avoid water.

"Get off!" he demanded, pushing his hands on her forearms to break her off him.

She held on tighter, bawling into his jacket. "Don't go! PLEASE! Don't leave me _again!_ I can't stand it if you left again!"

She looked up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist like a python, while he tried to break out of her encircled arms by pushing down on them with his hands and backing away. He grumbled when all he ended up doing was dragging her with him with her knees skating across the floor.

He threw a sharp, warning look at her, seething lowly: "Get your goddamn paws off, _now_ —"

"No! I _need_ you!" she sobbed. She blinked at him, pausing before she confessed candidly to him. "Please… I love you… _please…_ "

Erron's eyes bugged wide and his attempts to get free turned more determined. She was out of her fucking mind. She bawled harder at him, her desperation equal in his need to get as far away from her as he could. When he couldn't get free in a way that excluded getting violent with his fists, he paused and lifted the gun out of his holster and brought it to her forehead.

She stopped almost instantly, especially after she finally recognized the malignant gaze he cast down at her—one that in no way could be misinterpreted as anything but serious.

"I said…" — he clicked the hammer back and she shrunk— "Get. _OFF_."

Her hope crumpled before him as she looked up at him with a wincing, pained expression before they ultimately loosened until they dropped slowly by her sides. She swallowed shakily, tears still running down her face, as he lowered the gun and put it back in his holster.

Sera now fully and unequivocally humiliated, looked elsewhere but at his scathing expression.

"Why… why…?" more tears fell from her eyes, her eyes looking down at his shoes; the woman talking mostly to herself. "W-what do I do wrong? Why doesn't… why doesn't anyone… want _me_ …?"

Erron looked down at her, simply watching her weeping disposition with an awkward, but still emotionally detached regard. She looked more like a beaten, broken dog to him, whining at his feet for affection. He crinkled his nose at her. She was barking up the wrong tree if she thought her crying would deter him from showing her anything other than cold indifference. He could care less about her plight

He didn't love her, hell he didn't even _like_ her in the slightest, but she took his refusal as a betrayal of her heart. As if in her own mind, she was under the impression that he did love her. He wondered if it was his older self's doing, since they had spent more time together, and she was hoping she could rekindle whatever she previously had with him — not knowing the younger Black didn't settle or show love to any woman. He just used them to scratch an itch, nothing more.

Though, now he understood further why she had been so adamant in having so many rounds of sex with him. It really was just to keep him there as long as she possibly could; refusing to let him leave her and using the only play she had.

The thought sat like vinegar in his stomach and made him feel more repugnance for her. She was just so desperate and so without integrity that he couldn't help but feel sorry for her despite his thorough distaste for her childish longing. There was something wrong with her. Like she was some broken hand-me-down doll so worn that nobody wanted it but just wanted to be loved. He scoffed. He could see why nobody wanted anything to do with her— who would want a doll whose voice-box never stopped playing?

She buried her head in her hands, crying into them. Bemoaning and spilling into her palms. Erron sighed with exasperation as he stepped around her, walking towards the door to leave her there sulking on the floor.

Yes, the plan was to leave her a bit heartbroken after he departed, but he had never thought it to end so melancholy and burdensome with her crying with such heavy grief; as if she had just loved and lost a husband. Black wondered if this was just another ploy to keep him there, trying to play to whatever guilt she thought he might have. Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside. He didn't care — he was leaving for good this time, no matter if she put all of Outworld underwater.

"I-I hate you…" she hiccupped softly. "You're a selfish bastard… you're supposed to love me… y-you're supposed to be w-with me…"

He ignored her, though he still sneered with distaste at the sound of her voice. He felt sullied and dirty. If he had known this outcome would have transpired the next day, he certainly wouldn't have volunteered to such irritation. He gave a breathless sigh, reaching the handle of the door.

Whatever, what was done was done. He fucked the older Black's woman as he wanted and his other self could deal with her. He had gone through his plan…

Erron opened the door and nearly ran into a tan-colored bag hanging on a nail above the door frame; the sack looking it was suspended in midair and purposely apparent so he wouldn't miss it.

His eyes squinted suspiciously at it before he reached up with a gloved hand and grabbed it, snapping the cord across the nail when he pulled curtly down in the process. Black gave it a moment before he opened it. Simply just rolling the burlap sack around in his palm, and feeling something round and hard on the inside that he couldn't identify.

Instantly, he felt anger start to grow as he held the seemingly innocent bag in his palm. He didn't even need to ask, he already had an idea who it was from. Who else but his future self would leave him anything so blatant for him to find? The bag itself was non-identifiable; absent of marks or any lettering. Yet, he recognized it as one of the many bags he had seen his doppelganger carry — one usually jingling with coins that were supposed to be his.

He knew for a fact that it was not there last night, so it only meant that he had either placed it there this morning or had stopped by last night. There was only one question he had in regards to his secret visitation: how did the Future-Black know where he would be last night?

It all seemed pre-planned; he doubted that his older self heard them through the door, thought of something, came back, and then placed the bag on the nail to find. It didn't make sense — _he_ wouldn't have done it. No… this was intended to find and whatever inside, purposeful and made with at least a day's thought. Erron knew it as if it was written all over the bag itself in bold lettering.

He felt suspicion crawl over his skin like a malignant spider climbing over his body, and knowing that whatever was in the bag, he wasn't going to like.

With a light scowl already creasing its way onto his face, he opened it and peered inside… and instantly felt his brow bridge in confusion at what he found.

His gloved hand reached for the folded note first, ignoring the small red round canister that sat at the bottom… somewhat curious to see what his older self had to say.

When he folded the note open he immediately felt his stomach drop and his eyes bulge in anger…

The older Erron hadn't written much.

Two words in fact.

Two words that instantly set him into a furious mood…

They were so blunt and informative but filled with such an arrogant smugness directed at him that the younger gunslinger immediately felt boiling rage reading them, but it wasn't the only thing that had pissed him off about the note.

The message that the older gunslinger had written was underneath a picture of two women: drawn side by side.

The only problem was the two women in the photo were identical…

One was the healer…

He heard the leather of his glove creak when he crushed the bag in his hand.

And the other was a woman that looked _exactly_ like her…

_**Wrong Sister** _

They were twins.

Erron's mouth twisted hatefully at the paper, his eyes darkening when all of his previous reservations and suspicions finally toppled on top of him like a pile of unforgiving heavy stones. Indescribable indignation ignited inside of him like a stick of dynamite, but at the same time there was nothing around for him to destroy; a small, muted explosion of anger that only surfaced on his face.

He fucked the wrong woman.

The bounty hunter spat into the sand, feeling as if he still had a taste of peppermint still lingering on his tongue.

He fucked the wrong woman _multiple_ times.

They had switched places and it could only mean that the older Erron Black had known all along what he had in mind for the healer. He _had_ wasted his time. He had been spotted by his future self and the bastard had predicted his moves from the very start. It made him fucking livid knowing that the old shit had outsmarted him when he had been trying to get the upper hand on him. He had played him well…

The mercenary's lips pinched together tightly, a deep sigh exiting out of his nostrils as he stared irately into the distance of where the Kahn's palace was.

Erron would have to admit it was clever if _he_ wasn't the one who was played for the fool. He didn't cotton to losing —at anything — and the aggravating detail that it was to his egotistical senior double he had lost to, made the wound sting even more. He should have predicted it — they were supposed to be the same person!

The more he thought about it, he realized the older Black didn't even have to switch the twins around. He could have just simply plucked her away and left him discovering an empty house with no healer; leaving him to understand that he had been made and he moved her. It would have been enough to get the message clear that he was aware of him stalking them.

Instead, the son of a bitch took it one step further, playing a joke and letting him discover he'd been hoodwinked as a blatant 'fuck you.' It wasn't even about him fucking his woman, it was the principle. Switching the girls and letting him find out this way was a message for the younger Erron Black. It was hidden, but an easily understood lesson, and unfortunately the younger gunslinger heard it _very_ clear.

" _I'm smarter and will always be a step ahead of you…"_

To make matters worse, as if it was a way to ensure that the bounty hunter didn't mistake his elder counterpart's intentions aside from just playing a prank on him, he wrote a postscript on the back of the paper as well.

The younger gunman only knew it was there because he'd have done the same if the roles were reversed; they wouldn't have just left it at two words. Erron Black, no matter which one, always made sure his point came across unmistaken and clear.

**Toe in line, Junior. Or next time, I won't be as nice.**

**Come after my shit again and next time you'll be more than just sore.**

**P.S: Ointments' on the house.**

The young bounty hunter heard something clink together at the same time his jaw twinged sharply in pain; the gunslinger grinding his teeth hard enough to crack them.

_You arrogant son of a bitch…_

He heard Sera shuffle to her feet, and instantly glared over his shoulder at the sobbing woman still crying into her hands…

Black felt his hand shaking from how tightly he had it closed into a fist; crushing the canister inside the burlap sack. His rancor now directed at a new person.

The mercenary tilted his head in her direction, his eyes filled with as much poisonous ire as a viper who just had its tail stepped on.

He _knew_ there was something off about her…

It all made goddamn sense now: the empty house, her tiny physical discrepancies, her ignorance of things healers would know, and her fucking slut demeanor meant to seduce him into making a mistake. If he had to bet his coins, he'd bet she was a worker from the House of Dusk. It would be the only place she could have gotten the peppermint and had been able to keep going with him all night long.

Erron _had_ been right all along — he goddamn knew it! He _knew_ there was something wrong about her and he hadn't listened when he should have. He had been so close to catching on, and it layered on another sheet of anger, this time mostly directed at himself for not paying closer attention to his gut.

She acted like a whore because she _was a_ whore…

He hissed angrily through his teeth; his vision red towards her.

… and one that had no doubt been recruited by his older self and the healer for him.

Which meant _she_ had also been in on it as well.

His eyes narrowed venomously, now seeing her despondence as nothing more than an elaborate drama put on by a good actress— one that was still mocking him despite her having to know he found the note. Still having the nerve to keep stringing him along even now…

Erron turned on his heels, marching back into the house with heated strides. His boots sounded like deep beats of an angry war drum against the hardwood before he grabbed the woman by each arm and turned her towards him to burn under his malignant, fiery gaze.

She cowered immediately, her gaze staring up at him in sudden fearful bewilderment. He wanted to thrash her for the look alone. Instead, all he could muster was to seethe vehemently at her: "You think you're fuckin' funny don't ya? All of you."

She sucked in a breath, shrinking underneath his stare, but blinked rapidly with frightened confusion. "W-what?"

Black's expression grew acidic and his tone low and turbulent. "Don't fuckin' play coy with me."

"What are you talking about?"

His hands turned to steal on her and she winced at his uncaring grip before he released one of his hands from her arms to bring the now wrinkled picture of the twins to her face. "So, what was the plan? Laugh about it later while you two are fucking the old man together on his palace sheets?"

She shook her head at him, gulping and panting fearfully. "Huh? I don't understand…"

"Drop the goddamn game! I know now! The only thing you're further doin' is just pissin' me off!" he snapped. He slanted his eyes dangerously at her. "You've been playin' me from the start…"

She instantly locked up, her body rigid in horror at him as she shook her head adamantly. "What? No! Erron… I haven't…"

She paused, her voice small and trailing off as she looked at the note, seeing it was a drawing of her and her twin he had found. She furrowed her brow, now forgotten tears still rolling down her cheeks as she stared at what he had in his hand before she shrugged at him.

"I… I can't read Earthrealm letters… and it's just Mera and me," she mumbled, her tongue licking her bottom lip nervously. "What does it matter?

"Are you a healer?" he barked rhetorically, his eyes as dark, cold, and jagged.

Sera shivered, shaking her head at him as if fearing telling him the truth they both knew would incinerate any lingering resolve he was trying hard to hold on to. "N-No… I work… at the House of Dusk. You already— you already knew that. Mera, my sister, is the healer… w-what does it matter?"

It was the wrong thing to say, despite it being the truth and he had asked. He was doubtful anything she said would have calmed him down. He was already exhaustively indignant at her for her participation in the Future-Erron's scheme. But what was making him loose his complete patience was how she kept playing so dumb. She was a good actress; her trembling trepidation as he bared his teeth angrily at her almost convinced him that she was legitimately innocent.

"How the _fuck_ would I already know where you worked!" he growled. His eyes bored into her accusingly. "Especially when you didn't say shit last night?"

"Mera said you did— she told me you already knew! She said she told you!" she whimpered, spewing her answer quickly at him. Her breathing elevated and as fast as hummingbird wings as she shrunk under him, at the same time she tried to feebly wiggle away. "I d-don't k-know wha-what's happening…w-why are you so a-angry with me?"

His grip slackened on her arm, her answer catching him off guard for a moment. There wasn't much admission in her words, she was just simply telling him what her sister had said, but there was something about how she had said it, and how she continued to shake like a leaf under him that made him reconsider her involvement regardless of the arrows that pointed to her guilt.

However, just as the night before, she seemed completely honest with him, and it was possibly the only quality she had displayed towards him that was somewhat positive: her unyielding truthfulness. Even if she was as dumb as a brick.

"P-Please Erron… you're scaring me… what did I do?" she wept.

His lips curled down into a frown, his bitterness towards her receding, and her frightened shaky words sending a slight stab of guilt through him. He thought more clearly about his last observation about her and considered that maybe she couldn't have been playing him along all this time because she lacked both the intelligence and prowess for such an undercover assignment.

Her fear and confusion were genuine.

Also, if there had been something going on, and trying she had been trying to hide it, he would have picked up on it last night. But she was honest; she had been honest last night, in the morning, and right now even as she cowered under him.

The younger Erron sighed; feeling somewhat regretful even if he couldn't stand her. Despite how much he wanted to take his anger out on something, he couldn't take it out on her —it was still all on his head. He truly thought she was the healer despite him catching on to subtle clues that she was in fact a twin.

Erron had never thought to know the healer's name beforehand or ask about the woman's profession last night. If he had bothered with either detail, he could have figured out the older Black's game sooner. But he hadn't and he should have asked.

How did he not think that she might be a twin? How could he be so imperceptive? Even though they were almost indiscernible from what he had seen in the picture, he should have seen it. It was somewhat eerie how exactly matched they were, and anyone would have made the same mistake— but it was one he thought he was smart enough not to make; his job depended on catching the right person for the bounty.

He felt nothing but shame and ire for his own stupidity. Erron had played right into the older one's trap; hook, line, and sinker— just like the old fuck wanted— and it burned him how close he had been to almost catching on… but didn't. He fell into his trap _exactly_ how the other Erron Black wanted and made him _feel_ his bottom slot on the totem pole.

_Toe in line, Junior._

"W-What did I do wrong? I haven't d-done —I haven't done anything wrong!"

Her voice snapped him from his thoughts, and he eyed her more thoroughly, furious still, but with a more cognizant analysis. She really hadn't done anything wrong, at least not intentionally malignant.

He had been with her all night, listening to her prattle, and not once did he sense she had been putting on a show for him. She really was truly annoying, even now, when he realized that she may have been duped as well and didn't seem to have the brains to put together why he was so jaded with her.

Reigning in his ire, doing his best to soften his features and grip, Erron spoke again; his expression still irate but phlegmatic enough for a serious conversation. He wanted to know every step of Black's idea precisely. "What _else_ did your sister have to say?"

Sera's demeanor remained anxious towards him, though her body slumped in his hold. Finally feeling as if she could forgo her need to run or fight if need be. A hand came up to rub away a tear from her face.

"N-Nothing…" she sniffled. "Just that… that you had been w-watching her… and that she came up and spoke to you… and said that she told y-you about me and where I worked… and that you w-want t-t-to see me instead… b-but I had to come to the house… and t-that you liked her red shawl and dress more… so we changed clothes, so you would like me more… "

Erron stayed silent for the meantime, waiting for her to continue as he drew in long, heated breaths. She swallowed quickly, nodding and finishing and she whimpered and sobbed.

"I-I … t-thought you knew… he used to be my client and that's why you wanted to make him jealous to prove t-that you're a better lover than him. I loved him… b-but he hurt me. He broke my heart and he shot me and I wanted to hurt him back… and t-then I liked you. I w-was gonna tell h-him how much I liked you more the next time I saw him, I swear. I was g-gonna make him feel bad! It was all true. I w-wanted him to f-feel bad when I didn't want him anymore… because he wanted my sister more!"

She broke down and wailed, her voice echoing about the house like the calls of some mournful spirit. Erron released her, allowing her to bury her face into her hands again. Leaving the bounty hunter there to connect the pieces for her; the woman too upset to do so for herself.

The gunslinger figured it easily enough: the healer, for whatever reason, either of her own volition or put up to it by the older Black, had lied to her sister to get her to the house.

Unbeknownst the entire time that he wanted Mera and gave Sera the impression that the younger Black had wanted her instead. Sera had no idea he had thought she was the healer this whole time.

The mercenary looked to her again, the woman still crying unabashedly in front of him. No wonder she had felt so rejected; who knew what else the twin had told her. He had to admit, the healer was more cold-blooded than he would have assumed from just the little he gathered. It surprised him somewhat; he assumed all twins were steadfast and loyal to each other. But it didn't seem to be the case between the Outworld sisters. Whatever the reason was.

Once again, there was a history with the older Black and the twins that the younger one wasn't privy to know, and in the end, couldn't care less about aside from combining how it all fell together. The healer wanted her sister to be hurt by him, either by his predicted refusal to love her back or discovering that it wasn't even the sister he wanted in the first place. Or even more ruthlessly, both outcomes.

He reached in the bag and pulled out the red jar of ointment left for him, wondering if it was even for him at all.

Interestingly enough, the note had been very vague in that regard, and at first he thought it was a slight by the healer against him. As if she had known between the two of them who would be sore. He had a guess what it was without even asking. Whores used ointments often between bouts for genital soreness.

He gazed at the weeping woman again. Maybe it was never for him, but for the sister who used it often in her profession; serving as her own note for Sera. Its presence in the bag was enough for her sister to know without a doubt that she had been in on it from the start and wanted to flout as much.

The only thing he could consider why her own flesh and blood would have done such a calculated thing was either the twins just hated each other worse than oil and water, or Sera had done something equally nasty first.

She wailed, obnoxious and messy, breaking his train of thought and making a mess with her tears. He sucked his teeth, Sera a completely gross and blubbering sight.

Whatever the motive, he didn't enjoy being an audience member held hostage to witness the conclusion between the twin's feud.

The corner of his mouth tugged bitterly to one side, and unenthusiastically, feeling a bit obligated to, he pulled out a dirty bandana he had tucked in one of his jacket pockets' and handed to her to use; being as sympathetic as he could muster.

She took it, muttering a nearly indecipherable thanks, before blowing into it loudly; clearing snot and tears before she looked up at him. It was a bit ironic; this entire dilemma was supposed to be between him and his older self, yet it was Sera he felt worse for between the two of them at the moment (though he was still very pissed). But, he hadn't been the only one that had been played for a fool. And as much as he didn't want to dive into the conversation, mostly he just wanted to leave, she deserved to know the truth.

"Your sister lied to you, darlin'," he informed flatly. Wanting to get it over with as quickly as he could. He handed her the canister, hoping that it would serve as enough proof for her that his words were the truth.

She hiccupped, slowly absorbing his words; her caterwauls tapering down as she focused on listening. Sera shook her head in denial at him. "What? But she said… why would she lie?"

"You weren't who I was after," he said, his eyes glancing at the healer's jar.

Sera gave an aporetic chuckle. "B-But she said you… she said you did… she's never lied to me before…"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, looks like there's a first time for everythin', doesn't it?"

Sera remained mute; mentally debating whether or not to accept it. However, much to his nearly nonexistent patience, she still refused. "Why… why would she lie? She said she saw you. That you were watching… and interested…" — Sera's hand clutched at the gold medallion and shuddering out a breath — "She said she forgave me… for what I said…and you had to have been interested when you came here. Why else would you take me to bed?'

Erron ran a hand over his face, growing peeved already. Did he have to fucking spell _everything_ out for her? "I was _interested_ but it wasn't _you_ I was interested in, _honey_."

His emphasis hadn't been the politest but being genteel wasn't going to cut it with her it seemed. She needed it as hard to the face as possible to get it into her thick skull. Erron, still irate with being the victim of the older Black's plot, didn't want to stand in the house all day waiting for her to slowly click it in place. He could tell she was trying; Sera was slowly working it out with her eyes to the floor, mulling it over silently.

However, when it carried on a moment too much for his liking, he cut right to the chase.

Erron waved the paper in front of her before he crushed it into a ball and threw it squarely into her chest; his eyes as sharp as his tone was direct: "It was your sister I wanted to fuck — not _you_. I didn't even know you fucking existed. You get it now?"

The woman's face paled at his words. Standing so still when she heard him that he thought he had stricken her dead for an instant. Then, as realization started to pool its way through her, her face slowly brightened into a crimson hue. Sera growing more furious as the seconds idled by.

Her eyes, now brimming with hot tears looked to the canister in her hand and glared at it as if it was a hideous insect that had nestled in her palm. Now Erron fully understood that the canister was never for him, it was for Sera all along. There was either something about the color or the jar itself that blared a hated memory for the woman. It was the only explanation why she would stare so violently at it, wanting to crush and grind it into sand but not having the strength to do so.

But then she turned her attention towards him and once again he saw the pissed off harpy return, only this time, he doubted it was going to feel remorse about striking him. Sera trembled with outrage at him, pointing a shaky finger at him.

"You… You thought… I was my _sister_ this whole time, _didn't_ you?" she growled, her teeth bared at him like a rabid dog.

"Ding ding," he mocked coldly back. "Ya finally got it."

She hissed at him, tears spilling down her face at the same time she slapped him hard across the face again; this time with enough force to cut his bottom lip open. His tongue darted out to taste his lip, tasting copper on his tongue and choosing to do nothing, before he turned to look back at her; maybe he had earned that one.

" _Why_ … why does everyone… want my cunt of a sister, more?" Sera snarled vehemently. "Why… does everyone… like _HER_ more than ME? That... _boring..._ little slut!"

Erron raised an eyebrow at her as the woman's face twisted hatefully and ugly at the thought of her own twin. Well… now he could see why the healer did what she did. He'd hate to sit across the table with a sibling like her for dinner.

Sera didn't keep her wrath to herself, though, and her attention fixed back at him almost instantly after her first sentence. "You— BOTH OF YOU— all you want is _her_. All you _wanted_ since last night— the one _you_ wanted to FUCK this entire time was _MERA_ instead of _me_! Both you bastards just want her! Why?! What can she give you that I can't?!"

Black crossed his arms over his chest, scoffing flippantly. "She'd probably not give me chafe for one."

Anger flared across the woman's face as if what he said brought up a bad memory and shrieked furiously at him before her heel shot up and hit him squarely in the balls — brutally and unforgivingly _hard._

He let out a sharp groan of pain before he crumpled instantly to the ground on his knees, his hands covering over what was his already sore crotch that roared with sharp, biting pain. He glared up at her, pushing hot air through his nose as she returned his stare with as much lividness as him.

"You both can _FUCK_ her together then! I never want to see ANY of you again!" Sera spat crossly.

She walked to his side, preparing to pass him before she stopped and glanced at the canister in her hand. "And you can have THIS—" she whipped the red jar at his head, causing it to bounce off the back of his skull and earned another surprised grunt of pain from him — "you need it more than I do anyway!"

Black growled, reaching for her ankle to grab her, but missed and couldn't think of a comeback quick enough before she was already out the door.

Eventually, he worked himself back up to his feet, his groin still throbbing in pain; she kicked him as hard as a mule, he'd give her that. Still, for her sake, he hoped she didn't cross paths with him again; he doubted he wouldn't take the opportunity to give her a matching bullet hole on the other shoulder for the one she already had.

The bounty hunter limped to the door, doing his best to hide his pain by ignoring it to recreate his usual saunter. The marketplace had already began to come alive; stalls opening and a few early morning wandering buyers began to meander about and he didn't want any one of them to see him in such a state.

But what he did allow them to notice, was how hopping mad he was. He wanted them to be afraid of him — anyone — so he could feel better about his current distress.

Erron stared at the alleyway where he had been watching his older self and the healer, almost as if he was expecting to see the other gunslinger standing there deriding him with his presence. Yet even more mockingly, he wasn't there. As if the younger visage wasn't even worth his time — making him feel even more worthless in the process.

However, the bounty hunter refused to let such deprivation of his ego set in. It didn't matter how many times he would have to attempt it — he would have everything that the older Erron Black had.

This was nothing.

This was not over…

Not by a long shot.

He would get him back.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drinking peppermint schnapps while trying to make a bow on a poorly wrapped Christmas present* "I'm sorry, allllrrriight? I'm not good at tying things in neat little bow, K?" o.0 * drops ribbons and pulls out duct-tape and starts wrapping it sporadically around the package* "But we do the best with what we got, right?" *drop kicks present underneath a crooked Christmas tree*
> 
> Anyway, I hoped I made this thing worked. I should probably point out that I don't look down on certain professions, I just needed a character to annoy the shit out of Baby Erron. I based her loosely off of Alex from Fatal Attraction- just with more talking, less bunny murder, and no stabby stabby.
> 
> This story was fun to write. Hoped you all enjoyed it. It was certainly an... educational experience writing smut.
> 
> See you all later in my more serious works. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Whiskey Sour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pouring canned cheese into my mouth* Whoops, my hand slipped. *crying*

* * *

** Mirror Match  
** **Chapter 4  
** _**Whiskey Sour** _

* * *

_**The Night Before...** _

Amethyst, amber and gold pooled in from Black's open balcony and landed on Mera and him; the fleeting mixed sunset colors varnishing over their naked skin as they joined in his bed. It was a first for him, to bring her to the palace and into his room but it had been a necessity. Her first day wasn't until tomorrow, but he needed her out of her little house for the night while Mera and her twin sister, Sera, switched places.

After tonight was done, and his younger self got a taste of the healer's sister, he knew the little cuss would leave Mera be. If there was one seemingly _normal_ woman in Outworld that could make his younger self regret his decision to come after his woman, it was the obsessive soiled dove of the House of Dusk.

They both knew it wasn't a nice thing they did, but they had it coming as far as he was concerned; both of them were equally annoying to him.

He knew his younger self would be pissed about getting hoodwinked, and Sera never did take kindly to being cast aside by someone she genuinely liked. The rejection would be bad enough for the twin, let alone learning she wasn't even the sister that his other self wanted in the first place.

While Erron felt little remorse about it, he was still surprised Mera agreed to it no matter how much her twin hated her for ruining her professional reputation.

The gunslinger knew she wanted to get back at her but didn't want to make her twin feel like shit, even though she deserved it. Mera had boasted she did, but he could still tell she had been reticent about doing something so hurtful. But she still owed him one.

Perhaps that was the reason she didn't object too much about handing over the necklace (he could have very well just paid Sera with coins and gotten his favor from Mera another way). It was not only a bribe, but a balm as well; so, Sera didn't resent her too much after she did learn the truth. Still, Erron and Mera both predicted that the siblings' relationship would be completely severed after tonight. It was long overdue, anyway.

Mera had bitter, angry tears in her eyes leaving the brothel; the gunslinger choosing to wait outside for her to walk her to The Anchor before the palace. He still saw her crying, even if she thought he hadn't, even after quickly wiping a hand away and putting on a stoic expression the rest of the time.

The gunslinger did feel a bit to blame, as if he was somehow the straw that broke the camel's back, even if it was understandable revenge. Mera only said one thing in regards to it as they walked to The Anchor.

" _I don't feel sorry. She's not sorry and now she has the necklace. What's one real transgression in addition to all the ones that she imagines I did to her anyway? I gave her a real reason to hate me now and I don't want to see her again."_

Still, after they got back to his room, she drank from his stash, Erron offering whatever caught her eye as his silent way of making it up to her. She downed the only decent sample of Outworld wine rather quickly he had in his trunk. Then, she wanted him to provide another distraction.

" _Make love to me. I want to forget_."

Erron hadn't expected their night to begin with such a melancholy mood, only because it wasn't a loss for him. He definitely always preferred Mera. Mainly because she wasn't an obsessive and pathetic psycho.

Even though Sera had shown him some good times, he had always found her too high-strung; too flippant and emotional when he told her he wasn't interested in being anything more than just her client. She once pulled a knife on him, refusing to be rejected, and telling him whatever she could to convince him to stay. Saying she loved him, and she was the only one for him. Erron was sure she told that to all her clients she got too enamored with, but even then, he could tell she had become a little bit _too_ infatuated with him. So, he had been fortunate for what had happened further on down the road.

Ever since he shot her on accident a month ago and took one of her clients (barging in on the middle of their tryst), the woman was hard-pressed to let it go. It wasn't his fault the guy shoved her towards him, and her hand had hit his gun the wrong way.

However, she was unconvinced he hadn't meant it and called him every colorful name she could think of, thinking he shot her on _purpose_ with some half-brained idea Mera told him to do it. Sera already knew that he had his eyes on Mera long before he bedded the healer after finding out she had a twin and was convinced it was the reason he stopped visiting.

Well… _partly_ the reason.

 _"My sister can't give you what_ _**I** _ _can, Erron."_

_"What? Chafe?"_

_Sera slapped him._

As far as he was concerned, she had nobody to blame but herself for why he stopped visiting her.

If she wasn't the way she was, if she just kept it professional, he wouldn't have turned towards Mera in the first place. Sera was good; brazenlydirty _,_ always in the mood and up for anything and anyone as long as the price was right. She was good at her job, but fucking hell could the woman talk his ear off.

Yet, despite how good she was, the woman always held out for the glimmering prospect that she'd find someone by being too good at her job — even if she knew it was the worst way to go about it.

Unlike her twin, the woman never stopped with a man she saw more than a client; she was emotionally incapable of stopping at just one round it seemed. Erron could never tell if it was because she was truly insatiable once she got her hooks in, or she used sex as a tactic to get men to like her more. He heard a rumor that some men bribed her with coins just to get her to leave them alone outside of the brothel, and although she wasn't stupid enough to ever pull it on him, he believed it. But what was more problematic for her clients, was she didn't leave it there.

Mera had told him how Sera would oftentimes show up randomly and cause disputes with wives of men she liked; seeing if she could worm her way between them. But no matter who it was, she always got shut down; the infatuation was always one-sided. Nobody ever wanted her. She was just too goddamn much.

There was no mystery that there was a cog missing from the clock that made the woman's mind tick. And while sex work in Outworld would be a last alternative for some, she didn't mind it if it meant she could find what she was looking for. Sex was her tool, but also a vice and like an addict, she was never satiated. There was something clearly broken in her, something deprived where she saw sex as her antidote for loneliness when she was really after a cure.

 _Love_. Mera told him once. _She just wants to be wanted by someone because she can't stand herself._

Erron understood that Mera still loved Sera, even now; it was still her sister, but the healer knew that there was nothing she could do for her. It wasn't from a lack of trying. But Sera's affliction was mental, not physical, and there was no balm or remedy Mera could heal with. Sera would always resist her. Eventually, Mera just stopped altogether long before Erron came along.

It was why the picture of the twins was so important to her, it was the last bit of sunshine the woman had before the relationship was eclipsed by a dark, ugly shadow. Something about what their Ma' did, he didn't know; he wasn't paying attention.

But, as riveting as the little soap opera was, he selfishly only saw opportunity through the twins' hatred.

It all played out very serendipitously.

He knew Sera wanted the necklace; the healer had let it slip during one of their conversations, and he saw it as a perfect bargaining chip to get Sera to the house even if she still hated his guts or not; she was still a working girl and it would be just another client. He knew it was sentimental, but Mera had no choice— she owed _him_ in return for securing her a job in the palace; a position she had wanted and one that took some persuasion— and a bullet— for her to have finally. Not knowing he had his own motive in mind.

What could he say?

He didn't have to walk or pay anymore for his _massages_.

He was selfish and would always be selfish.

The only hiccup he had foreseen was knowing Sera wouldn't like who the client was; the woman probably still protested that she hated him. But in the end, given her jealousy towards Mera snagging him, he figured the woman wouldn't be too resistant to the proposal. She would see Past-Erron as a second chance to covet for something that she didn't get with him the first time around.

But he remembered his youth, and knew he was even more self-centered back then than he was now. Like before, she'd get clingy and annoying and get shot down. Literally, if she pushed his younger self's buttons wrong.

Regardless, he honestly felt worse for his younger self; he'd already been to that shit-show rodeo.

In the end, it was a favor for a favor for _another_ favor. It had to be some sort of design by some faceless providence; the events lined up too well to be labeled as simple coincidences, but whatever, it paid off well for him.

 _Very_ well for him.

A groan fell from his mouth as Mera bounced and moaned on his cock. Her hands landed on his chest, using his body as a counterbalance, as she rode them both towards the same desired conclusion to the long, trying day.

One of Erron's hands left her hip as she lifted and sank on top of him while wearing his hat to reach for the nearly empty bottle of Earthrealm whiskey— something only uncorked when he had a prominent itch or was in a celebratory mood.

Tonight, sufficed for the latter, although he wished he hadn't run through it as fast as he had; now leaving a pittance in the bottle; barely enough for a last shot. His blood ran hot, the alcohol leaving his limbs tingling and numb and his head swimming as the woman riding him spread tendrils of pleasure over his loins and up along his stomach.

Mera, the hat dipping over her eyes, flicked it back on her head with her hand and slanted her eyes when she noticed him traveling the bottle to his lips. Before he could take another sip, she scorned him breathlessly, hilting his cock with her hips against his, and earning a low rumble in the back of his throat from him.

"Not going to share?" She asked, her words a bit slurred, the healer still very tipsy.

His hand paused, the glass barely grazing his mouth, with an eyebrow raising. He was surprised she wanted more alcohol after downing the first bottle. "Thought you preferred wine?"

The woman slowed but still rocked lightly on him as she crawled towards him; the tip of the hat brushed against his forehead as she leaned forward. Mera grasped the bottle from his hand, her eye-contact never faltering from his as she raised her own eyebrow at him; hers more playful.

"I am not as _boring_ as my sister makes me out to be," she told him, rolling her hips purposely hard on him — _griiiinding_ with delicious friction on him as she pushed against the scorching, wet, _squeezing_ walls of her cunt. A quiet moan parted from her before she gave him a toothy grin above him — the same time his head went into the back of the mattress. He spit out a curse through his teeth; the healer not knowing just how close she had made him come just then.

"And besides... we can _share_. Unless you want the last for yourself?"

The corner of his mouth tugged to the side, "Well… you'll get no objections of sharin' from me darlin'."

He pulled himself up, holding her while he rotated in the bed, so his spread legs dangled over the side with his feet planted on the floor. Mera adjusted, her thighs braced low against his waist the same time her shins and knees paralleled against the mattress. Erron sat up with her still seated on his lap, his arms wrapped around her waist for support while one of her arms circled around his shoulder as she held the bottle in her other hand.

The healer rose it to her lips, sucking down the last shot of it but didn't swallow; the liquid causing her cheeks to balloon slightly. Erron grinned, impressed she held it in better than he had expected, and his cock throbbed inside her at the sight.

He grabbed her chin with his hand and brought her lips to his in an open mouth kiss. She swallowed some, earning a slight strained groan from her, but let the rest pool inside his mouth. The liquid dribbled over his stubble in ribbons as they sloppily kissed and drank from each other; making a sensuous slow mess as it razed fire inside of their mouths while the slow stroking of their lips and tongues against each other kindled it hotter.

The bottle hit the mattress softly, quickly forgotten, as she grasped his shoulders while Black dipped towards her chest. He licked and sucked at the skin where droplets of the alcohol landed on her chest; reveling at the feel of the woman's fingernails digging into the muscles of his shoulders as she sighed breathlessly and moved softly in his lap.

She whimpered, her head thrown back with her eyes closed, as his hand pushed one of her breasts up and brought the nipple to his mouth; sucking, pulling and teasing with his tongue and teeth as he collected the last of the whiskey shared between them. A deep, rich moan issued from the bottom of his lungs and exited out, echoing against her skin. His hands grabbed the dips of her waist as his hips jerked into her with somewhat stunted, yet solid rams upwards into her that earned him satiny moans.

Fuck, between the liquor, her wearing his hat, and the sounds alone he was enticing out of her from his mouth, he wasn't going to last much longer. 

He pulled himself up to his feet and turned, earning a surprised squeak from her as her legs wrapped around his waist while his hands released to cup her ass as he lifted her with him.

They fell back on the mattress with him on top of her, the abrupt movement causing the full length of his cock to slip deep and _rough_ inside her. His hat fell to the floor at the same time she let out a strangled sob and grabbed his arms for support; her neck leaning back as her hair hung over the edge of the bed like a curtain.

Black wasted no time, not even letting the woman collect her bearings, as he dragged and shoved his cock into her with a brisk and blunt rhythm. His hands gripped the edge of the bed on each side of her head, using it to pull his body harder into her.

Mera bit her bottom lip with her teeth as her hands grappled his biceps, her nails dragging along the scarred tally-marks as she keened under him with each full sheathe inside her making her shudder gaudily; the sound loud enough to echo in the room. It spurred him on, making him smirk despite him filtering and hissing collected air through his teeth as sweat already began to bead on his heated skin. Shit, how did she feel good all the goddamn time? She was one of the least dangerous women he had ever taken to bed, yet the healer was one of the best lays he could remember lately...

Mera's arms embraced him, pulling her against him so they were chest to chest with no space of skin between them, " _Harder._.." — she gasped before she clenched her teeth; her nails digging like needles into his skin as she closed her eyes— "D-Don't stop.. by the Gods. I'm close... "

He grunted hoarsely above her.

Fuck, so was he.

He let out a deep, ragged groan, the sound like rocks tumbling down the side of a mountain cliff, as Erron let go of one of the sides of the bed and curled his fingers through her hair at the back of her skull. He tugged at her scalp hard, exposing the column of her neck completely to him and latched on with his mouth. She let out a pleasured but pained cry before she smiled as he fucked her to her release…

Black hissed, his eyes shut tight…

…one that would be followed by his own…

There was a knock at the door, soft and barely noticeable, but it stopped him dead in his tracks and it caused the woman under him to open her eyes. His hand loosened in her hair and they both paused as they breathed haggardly, both of them a complete fucking mess, and almost unsure if what they had heard was real…

Another knock confirmed there was somebody at the door and Erron lifted his head immediately. He scowled above Mera, his cock still swollen and twitching inside her, as his eyes narrowed and shot to the door with impatience.

Fucking impeccable timing…

"Who's that?" she asked, using the interruption to catch her breath under him. Although, he detected more curiosity than annoyance in her question.

"Dont care. Ignore it," he answered through his teeth, his face burying back in the crook of her neck, nipping at her skin with his teeth, as he picked up where he left off. Mera blinked, her eyes looking at the door, before she reluctantly heeded his word. It took a moment for Black to distract her, plowing his hips into her curtly to get the desired result he wanted: her closing her eyes once again… both of them getting lost in their fucking…

There was another knock, this time a bit more forceful, and it made him growl with annoyance into Mera's neck. His palms braced against the mattress, lifting himself to shoot an angered look towards the door. The healer sighed audibly under him as her hands went slack against him, also irritated.

"Perhaps you should answer it," she suggested, slightly dejected.

Erron on the other hand, wasn't so adamant.

"It can wait," he decided with a grumble. He leaned forward, his mouth moving sloppily on her lips before attaching to the woman's neck again; kissing roughly and without precision in an attempt to reestablish the mood despite the interruption caused the woman to go slouch under him.

Another knock came, this time sounding like a fist banging against the door, and Mera placed a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing when Erron let out a frustrated 'Fuck' into her skin. One of the gunslinger's fists closed into a ball and he hit the side of the mattress as he pushed himself up away from her neck and fired back at the door with an irate command.

"Gimme a goddamn minute!"

They both waited in silence, the mute void dragging like snails through the sand, as Mera and Erron waited for either the sound of retreating footsteps or another knock.

Neither came, and he knew that they weren't going to go away until the door was answered. However, he was keen on making them wait as long as he damn well wanted and needed since they had come at a most inopportune time. In fact, he'd make them wait _longer_ as recompense. Mera on the other hand, stared up at him with a humored expression, smirking in amusement at how pissed he had become.

"That's what you deserve for the other day," she jested lightly, a smile spreading upon her face. "Not nice is it when somebody keeps... _interrupting_ you."

Erron's brow furrowed into a hard line at her before he thrusted sharply into her, hard enough to earn a breathless grunt from the woman and erase any other quips she had prepared to throw at him.

"I can _still_ get the door," he implied with a grouchy but droll tone.

She tried to open her mouth, but he didn't give her a second to answer, purposely forcing her mute as he fucked hard into her. Mera went silent under him besides the whimpers that spilled out of her as he once again picked up speed and intensity; the presence on the other side of the door being pushed to the back of his mind, as he watched her eyes shut tight while her mouth opened to slip a strained whispered demand: "Ignore it..."

Much to his satisfaction, the person on the other side didn't knock, allowing the couple in the bed to careen closer back to their paused climaxes. Mera ran her nails down his back, scratching him as she moaned, and he let out a groan fall from his throat as he reached the speed and cadence he had before the unwanted disturbance. The woman arched beneath him, her naked breasts rubbing against his chest, as she let out a series of loud, feminine whines that heightened in volume each time he drove back inside her. The noises she made under him —knowing it was him causing them—made him fucking flush with lewd arrogance. He loved it, and he preened at it. He drove harder and deeper into her until her cunt was tightening achingly around his cock once more as she writhed and bellowed beneath him.

Despite the amazing, spiraling pressure he felt gather from his loins and down into his sheathed cock distracting him, he was also very aware that whoever was on the other side of the door, could most likely hear them. The thought was so dirty and obscene that he grinned with dark relish at it; whoever it was, he wanted them fucking jealous. It made his ego swell, especially when Mera didn't exactly hold back on the volume, either. It was almost as if she had the same evil thought, or simply believed they couldn't hear them beyond the thick palace room door. Or better yet… couldn't think at all in her current pleasured state.

Whatever the reason, he didn't care which one, it caused him to plow harder into her; determined to make sure that the brutal slapping of their skin making contact could also be heard on the other side.

Mera's hand shot out to the back of his scalp, holding him to her but also sharply pulling back on his short hair enough to earn a pained, but _welcomed_ husky moan from him, minutes before he felt the strong, _pulsing_ detonation of her orgasm.

She sank her teeth into his shoulder; muffling her loud caterwaul into his skin as her legs locked tight around his waist and she came hot, wet and _tight_ on him. Erron made a sound only reserved for when he got wounded: a low, curt grunt that echoed through the room, as he huffed for air into his lungs but couldn't find the strength to exhale until seconds later as the movements of his hips stunted as he came inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, groaning out shuddering breaths lowly from the back of his throat as the aftershocks followed the initial earthquake of his release while he continued to pump seed inside her. Black wasn't usually one to cum inside, but he knew she had medicinal remedies to counter any unwanted conceptions. It was what made her so popular with the whores, as well as with him. There was no substitute for how good it was to cum inside a woman without the fear of producing any little unplanned bastards of his; collecting every little pulsing bit of warmth he could as they came down from their high. And from the contented look on the healer's face, she seemed to enjoy having her cunt wrapped around him too post release.

However, their afterglow was interrupted by the cursed knocking once more — the occupant on the other side knowing they were done.

"They're gettin' a bullet," he seethed angrily, almost childishly.

Mera simply chuckled breathlessly under him, "Be nice."

"I ain't got patience for nice," he countered, regrettably pulling himself out of her. She winched slightly the same time he did as he scuttled backwards off the bed while Mera wrapped a sheet around her naked body before laying on her side.

Black walked towards the door, uncaring of his current state of undress; much too irritated and drunk to remember to grab pants.

He wished he had when he furiously grabbed the handle, swung the door open and saw who it was on the other side… and suddenly remembered what time at night it was, and who _always_ came by at this time.

 _Shit_.

Norah, his female cup-bearer and assigned servant stood on the other side with his dinner on a tray, and fumed with exasperation up at him…

...also seemingly too angry to notice he wasn't wearing any pants...

"I do not _appreciate_ waiting out here for _you_ to take your food when I have other things " — her green eyes drifted down and she let out a curt, choked scream for air, as if somebody suddenly grabbed her by the throat, that echoed throughout the hallway.

The servant spun on her heels, her hands nearly losing grip of the tray as she shut her eyes and turned her back to him quickly. "Where... in _all_ the realms... are your _PANTS..._ and _WHHHHY_ are they missing? You disgusting... _shameless_... _WRETCH_."

Black, despite being annoyed before he opened the door, couldn't help but laugh softly in amusement at the woman's scathing and _horrified_ words. He'd known the Earthrealm-born-Outworlder baker for a few years now. Their history was not a fond recollection, quite pensive and malevolent, but they had buried the hatchet towards each other long ago. Now they were closer to cordial (kinda) acquaintances, though the dark-haired and fair-skinned woman (the product of Earthrealm parents) still thought he was arrogant and detestable. He was. And in return, he still found her to be an obnoxious stubborn mule at times.

His eyes drifted from her hair, tracing his eyes along the delicate dark waves that fell along her back, to the exposed skin the purple midriff top didn't cover, until they finally landed on the curve of her perfect ass and stayed there...

Still… it didn't mean she didn't have some _promising_ qualities about her.

"You can help me find them if you like... and help me take them off again," he offered, lowering his tone to baritone silk.

Predictably, Norah pushed a heated puff of air from her lips brusquely, sounding like a disgusted and jaded scoff, one that caused him to tug the corner of his mouth to the side. It was so much fun getting under her skin... he wondered how many more ways he could.

"Can you please make yourself _decent_ so I can give this to you and be on my way?" she barked, her voice sounding strained.

"Oh… but I'm more than just _decent,_ darlin' — as you saw," his voice dropped a register lower, "Fancy a gander for a second peak? Look as long as you like..."

"PANTS! PLEASE!" she snarled, too quickly and too loud, that it made him chuckle.

The gunslinger acquiesced, although in the back of his mind he thought of prolonging her obvious and entertaining discomfort. He eventually turned on his heel and dipped back into the room. Erron looked to the floor, searching and trying to recollect where he had discarded them, before he heard Mera click her tongue at him.

The healer dipped her fingers into the dark back pocket, collecting the original picture of the twins before she threw his pants in his direction. He caught them easily, and began working his way into them, as Mera's eyes drifted towards the doorway to see who it was before she smiled in recognition.

"Oh, hello Norah. Is that you?" she called out to the baker with a good-natured tone; an amiable greeting as if they had just bumped into each other in the marketplace.

The mercenary heard the cup-bearer give a small sigh, before she acceded and exchanged a neutral: "Hello Mera. How are you?"

"Just fine. And yourself? How is your shoulder? Is it still hurting you?" Mera returned, her eyes trying to look over Erron's form to see her better; doing a brief physician's assessment from where she was.

"Better…" Norah responded. The baker shrugged and rolled her left shoulder. "Although… the pain does still come back now and then."

"Worse when you knead dough?" the healer questioned.

"Yes. I have to take breaks sometimes," the baker acknowledged.

Mera nodded solemnly. "I was afraid of that. I'll take another look at it since we will be seeing each other more. I now work with the other healers here… with a little thanks to Erron."

He snorted at Mera.

Norah cleared her throat uncomfortably as if she was biting her tongue to prevent saying anything wrong out of respect.

The gunslinger on the other hand, rolled his eyes at their previous amity, finding their kindness ironic and boring. The women only met once thanks to him. Norah had needed an escort to venture outside of the palace walls to find a spice that the small palace kitchen she worked in had run out of, and since he had happened to overhear, he volunteered (he was going into the marketplace anyway).

He had turned his back for one second while she was at a stall and had gotten into a fight with a pickpocketer who had targeted her. Norah had fought back, breaking the punk's nose, but he had clubbed her in the shoulder with a piece of wood he had been carrying, injuring her rotator-cuff and causing her to let go of her bag.

He eventually caught the asshole, dragging him by the collar back to her and making him apologize to the baker first, before Erron returned the favor by doing the same to one of his shoulders with the butt-end of one of his pistols. He had taken her to Mera after that, since she was closer.

It had been an odd day, Norah didn't usually find him so affable, but she had appreciated it and thanked him. After their tense relationship spent mostly hating each other, it was progress. He could count on one hand the number of times she thanked him for anything in four years. He knew why of course; she didn't want to seem weak to him, so she kept him at a distance.

"That's wonderful, Mera. I know you wanted to for a while," she nodded, her tone a bit lifeless even if she was happy for her. "When did you start?"

While both women seemed to be friendly acquaintances after he had introduced them, he knew they only disapproved of one subject: him. Even now. Erron hadn't missed the odd filtering in Norah's voice; her tone antipathetic but still trying to not judge. The baker had known they had been sleeping together, and he could sense from her rigid body language when he looked over his shoulder, she was uncomfortable with stumbling upon them post-sex.

The corner of his mouth picked up in a brief flicker, his eyes darting to Mera and then Norah for a brief second.

… And he had a good guess _why_.

He couldn't help but be reminded of the feud between the twin sisters, and while he would usually decide not to comment, thought it too tempting not to stir the pot.

"Tonight, if you couldn't hear," Black interrupted, while buttoning his trousers. Mera shot him an acidic glare at the same time he heard Norah grumble something scathing and indecipherable under her breath at him.

The Outworld healer gave him a stony, pointed stare as she silently mouthed a soundless command at him: _"Be..._ _ **Nice**_ _."_

As Black finally buckled his belt, slapping the excess of his belt against the looped section of leather after he tugged the metal hook into the slot; conveying he heard her, but whether he would listen was still hanging in the air.

Erron turned on his heels and headed back towards the door where the servant still had her back to him. He stopped behind her, knowing that she knew he was there, before he heard her clear her throat; as if silently demanding if it was appropriate to turn around.

"It's safe now," he teased with a blasé tone. "No more needin' to advert your puritan eyes."

He could almost picture her rolling her eyes into the back of her skull as she gave the smallest shakes of her head, before she turned towards him. He couldn't help but smile at the creased look of distemper she had stamped on her face before she thrusted the tray towards him as far as her arms reached.

He scratched his thumbnail against his chin, grinning devilishly…

Norah really made it _too_ easy sometimes; she was such a pretty, _angry_ little prude of a target too tempting not to throw shots at.

Black reached out, taking the tray with both hands, his fingers none-too-subtly tracing slowly over the back of hers as he pulled it out of her grasp. As soon as she felt he had a hold of it, she snapped her hands back to her sides; her fingernails scratching over the material of her long eggplant colored skirt. She remained standing in the hall while he went to put the tray on his desk, but with a dour look of impatience that she conveyed told him she wanted nothing more than to leave…but couldn't.

It was one of the rules of her occupation: she had to be excused verbally by the person she was serving; it was a form of respect towards someone higher on the totem pole than her. Black was very aware of the rule, however, it didn't mean he didn't take delight in pretending that it _slipped_ his mind every once in a while. And what did you know, he just _couldn't_ remember the rule tonight, either.

The Kahn's guard walked back towards the door, his mouth up a in a half-donned smirk, before he crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway.

Norah huffed through her nose, knowing exactly what he was doing, as her green eyes stared sharply at him— waiting.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked crisply, despite the professional even-tone of her statement.

He scoffed. "What's your hurry?"

"I have other things I need to do," she reminded.

"Such as?" he questioned, unconvinced.

The cowboy watched her lips press together tightly, as if the baker couldn't remember — or come up with — a reason, before she gave a simple but flippant: "Things."

He chuckled disbelievingly at her, " _Things_?" Erron eyed her once again, his gaze landing on the teal-bib beaded necklace she wore that now lifted up and down lightly with each heated breath the woman inhaled and exhaled out her nose; looking everywhere in the hallway but at him.

He knew she could feel his eyes on her, evident by her growing discomposure, however it did her more harm than good. Erron couldn't help but drift his eyes down to her breasts, covered by the low-cut purple V-neck of her uniform he knew she hated and watched them bob up and down with every aggravated breath. A rose color flushed over her cheeks under his stare and he was unsure if it was a blush or she was simply pissed at him… or maybe a little of both.

Black had a feeling that the baker secretly liked him deep down, even if the woman put up a mean shield against him; using her past resentment about him as a means to deflect him. It didn't stop him from finding her attractive _,_ even if it was only skin deep _,_ and he could tell she felt the same about him.

They still had a rough history and while she still used it as an excuse, he had let go of his grudge a long time ago. He knew she had too, but just refused to let him in on it, because she was too stubborn to give him any satisfaction; knowing he'd gloat about it if she ever let her guard down.

He could tell it was becoming a struggle to keep up the ruse lately, especially since, much to her displeasure, she was still agreeable to the eyes to him, no matter how many times a day she scowled at him; in a way, it made him want her more. It was the thrill of the chase rather than the price of the bounty that spurred him on, though he'd happily collect if she'd let him. And as fun as that would be, he would always enjoy ruffling her feathers more — especially when she was so obviously uncomfortable with his flirting.

Norah almost always reciprocated his words back with loathsome annoyance, being as cuddly as a porcupine, but even he knew that once they showed their belly, there was a soft spot underneath... and he licked his bottom lip imaging just how _soft_ she probably was…

Her eyes flashed to his mouth, and she blinked with repulsion at him. "Let me be _excused_ Black, so I may go about my business, please? I have better things to do besides being held hostage in conversation with you."

He tilted his head in her direction. "Why? You tired of knockin' on the door like some fired up woodpecker…" — he smirked at her —"pokin' holes in the door tryna get a peak?"

Norah frowned at his implication. "Never, in all the realms, would I ever want to see _that_. And I am not going to be beheaded if someone catches food for a Kahn's guard out here unattended. It nearly happened once."

She came forward and jabbed a finger into his sternum while he looked down at it with indifference, like it was a speck of dust that just landed on him.

"Regardless of your word, I do not enjoy you purposely making me wait at your door"— the baker pushed her finger into him with every heated word— "Every"— "single"—"night."

He sighed tiredly, shaking his head, when she took a step back from him. "Why're you always so quick to lock horns with me? I thought we were friends, sugar," he asked, half genuine and half jesting. "Or at the very least warmed up to me by now, even if you do prefer paradin' about like some ice queen."

The baker regarded him contemptuously. "You do not have friends, _Erron_. And I have already told you many times before I despise the… _pet_ _names._ "

"Oh, you do, do you?" The gunfighter pouted mockingly at her, pushing himself from the doorway to saunter closer; staring down at her with a playful, but sensuous demeanor; noting the way she fidgeted by opening and closing her hand nervously and gulping quickly.

He smirked knowingly at her. "You ain't got a poker face for lying, _babydoll_. I think you do like 'em a little. And even if you don't, I'll still keep givin' them out 'till I get that cold heart of yours thawin' in the palm of my hand. _"_

She sighed exasperatedly before she brought her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. "You are obnoxious and delusional."

Erron breathed a light chuckle at her, before he stepped forward and cupped her chin between his fingers gently. Her eyes snapped open as soon as she felt his fingers on her skin, and frowned heavily at him but didn't move her hands to take his away.

He grinned amorously at her, whispering low so only they could hear. "True, but if you like, and got nothin' better to do— which we both know you don't — you can step inside and I can show you how fast I can make you _melt_ with just my hands."

The gunslinger felt her body go rigid underneath the pads of his fingers; a slight stiff tremor that poured from her face down her torso and pooled into her feet. But then she scathed at him, her nostrils flaring and catching a whiff of him now that he was closer to her. "You are drunk."

"Tipsy," he corrected, "but as much as I am, I can still see how strung tight _you_ are," he noted back, flashing his teeth as he felt her skin heat under his fingers, even if her eyes conveyed rancor towards him.

With a bit of encouragement from the whiskey making his tongue looser than normal around her, he gave Norah an appreciative once-over while his calloused thumb traced lightly over her soft lips. Erron felt her hitch a nervous breath in her throat before he let out a low _'mmph'_ and questioned velvety to her: "When's the last time someone's made you cum, darlin'."

The cacophony of mixed and conflicting expressions that immediately enveloped on her face was nothing short of hysterical to him. Regardless, he kept his stoic and aroused visage as he watched her go from shocked, to flushed, to aghast before settling finally on abhorrence at him.

Her hand finally did move, coming up in a flash to slap him across the face for his brazen inquiry, before he took his hand from her face to catch it in his palm; doing nothing but hold it in front of him. The woman seethed at him, blowing air from her nose like an angered bull, her cheeks hot and red… with _embarrassment_.

He lifted a blatant, perceptive eyebrow at her. "That long, huh?" He clicked his tongue at her. "Poor thing. No wonder why you're so… _frigid_ all the time. You just need someone to _warm_ you up."

She curled her lip at him… but suddenly shrunk as he stepped closer, inches from her, and murmured: "So tell me, pretty girl, which way would ya rather have me go about it? Melt in my hand…"

Black traced his thumb over the back of her wrist, rubbing it in a soft, circling caress that made her hold her breath. He flashed a wolfish smile while his eyes darkened, his eyes raking slowly down her body before he whispered, "... or melt in my mouth?"

Her jaw dropped at him while she stuttered out garbled syllables, in incognizant shock of what he said before shaking her head in disbelief at him. It was amusing to watch her battle back and forth with herself, watching her face as she fluttered between two conflicting emotions that wanted to feel too very opposite things in regards to him. Eventually, the sour side of her he had known for years surfaced like a mask on her face, as her breathing elevated in temperature and speed; her eyes blazing at him like a rattlesnake.

Still, regardless of her scathing demeanor, Erron narrowed his eyes minutely in skepticism at her; his eyes darting over to her hand and then back to her, as if silently wondering why she hadn't pulled it from his grasp— she could if she wanted. Despite her displayed annoyance with him, it was still one side of a shared coin… and he grinned knowing what was on the other side. She really was a terrible liar.

"Somethin' tells me you don't wanna be _excused_ that badly. Are you certain you got other _things_ to do?"

Her green eyes narrowed back at him, her breaths coming out audibly as angry gusts from her throat. "You despicable... _perverted_ — "

"Wretch," he slyly finished with a side-pulled grin, before bringing the baker's hand towards him and pulled her fingers to his mouth to kiss.

She recoiled in surprise at him, her face immediately set into a shocked stupor, while Erron couldn't help but crow inwardly as her body betrayed her yet again. Not only by letting her arm go lax as soon as he opened his mouth and lapped his tongue lazily at her fingers pressed against his lips, but how much she visibly trembled as he alternated kissing and licking lightly at her fingertips and knuckles.

He sucked her index and middle fingers into his mouth, seeing how far he could take it, and felt a sharp shiver run through her arm that traveled up to the fingers he had pressed against his tongue… all the while taking elation in watching her eyelids drip down and her gaze get foggy...

She snapped out of it, her eyes blinking rapidly and Erron finally felt her tug back on her arm, and regrettably he relented to her demands — but did it _slowly_.

Her eyes turned away from him, casting her stare off into the hallway while she swallowed hard, as he very _deliberately_ and softly pulled her wet digits from his mouth. A purposely dirty and _rumbling_ moan escaped from his throat as he gave the fingers a quick little nip of pressure with his teeth followed by a brief peck to both pads until he let go of her hand finally.

The baker blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then quickly three times, before she stared at him as if he had fungus growing out of his face. But he still soaked it all in egotistically, because for once, Norah didn't have a barb to throw at him.

Instead, the flustered woman stared at him with a single half-closed lid while the other was blown open wide at him; staring at him as if he was a complete lunatic... at the same time heated breaths rolled up through her body from her parted lips.

Black took a step back, gloating by beaming his teeth at her before he stepped back to lean against the doorway. Adamantly content at her bewildered and _blushing_ condition.

"If you find yourself needin' a reprieve from your _celibacy_ , darlin', I'm sure Mera wouldn't mind lettin' you borrow me for a night or two. Hell, she might join in if you'd like," he smirked smugly. "We're both mighty good at _sharin'_."

Norah guffawed loudly at him with disgust before she gave a pause and her eyes narrowed with dark delight; as if an evil thought sprang to mind. She stepped forward and wiped the fingers that were in his mouth against his arm; as if using his bicep as a rag to rid herself of something unfavorable.

"I would be careful if I were you Black, you might tumble and break your thick skull on the pavement from the height of that high pedestal you set yourself on. I would rather kiss a tarantula than _you_."

He laughed genuinely at her. "How long ago did you rehearse _that_ one in the mirror?"

The corner of her mouth flickered bitterly to the side, as if he had caught her, but she brushed it off and sternly asserted: "I am _not_ interested, and I will _never_ be _interested_."

Black gave a small, challenging smile at her. "Yet you keep loiterin' at my door, when we both know if you really wanted to, you could have left the tray and high-tailed it long ago… " his eyes shot to his pants before curtly raising his eyebrows at her... "instead of wantin' to see the _reason_ for all the ruckus."

The baker shook her head at him and laughed derisively. "Well, I can say for certainty — even if I did not want to know — that the _ruckus_ was definitely exaggerated considering the _reason_. No offense to Mera of course. I am sure she just did not want to hurt your feelings. We all know how _fragile_ your ego can be."

The arrogant gunslinger's expression dropped into one of displeasure instantly, and for the first time since he opened the door, she gloated at _him_ ; enjoying his obviously bruised reaction. Despite that she insulted him, he still found himself slightly amused by her quick wit — usually something that he didn't normally see due to her naturally reserved nature…

But Erron was still only _slightly_ amused by it…

_SMACK_

The cowboy jumped in surprise when Mera hit him in the face with his own hat before he could retort with what was on the tip of his tongue at the baker. His attacker held it against his face, blackening his view. Black reached up and grabbed it from Mera, giving her a slight scowl for hitting him as the healer stood by his side with a reprimanding stare at him, now wearing in the cobalt dress she came to the palace.

"Leave Norah alone and let her go about her business," Mera chided at him. She gave the baker a benevolent wink. "She has too much pride to be swooned by your overbearing ego and words."

Erron gave a biting mocking laugh, putting the hat on his head, as he gave the healer an acute look, "What does that say about _you_ then?"

Mera's eyes narrowed at his slight, though her expression remained unphased by his remark. "I am just using you so I can get the position here," she sarcastically retorted, shrugging her shoulder innocently at him.

She looked at the cupbearer briefly, smiling quickly, before giving him a pandering pat on the back. "And like Norah said: I didn't want to hurt your feelings by rejecting you. She is right, I'm afraid. Your ego can be a _bit_ fragile and not as big as you think it is."

The gunfighter shot her instantly with a bitter and angry look. She had some nerve on her.

"Didn't hear you complainin' a second ago…" he rebuked, growling indignantly at her through his teeth.

Mera lifted an eyebrow at him at his childish outburst. "You just proved the point, Erron."

Norah brought a fist up to her mouth, her shoulders shaking lightly as she snickered at his expense behind her hand. The gunslinger glowered at her too; it would have been better if she just came out and barked laughter in his face, instead of purposely mocking him by trying to be civil and muffling it.

Black's teeth grinded together behind his mouth, the muscle in his jaw flexing under his skin in agitation, as he began to feel a bit out-ganged and rendered mute.

"I'm gonna make you _regret_ that later," he promised crossly to the healer.

Mera simply flipped her hair from her shoulder with her hand, brushing his threat off as if it was nothing, causing Norah to give an unladylike nasally snort into her fist.

The mercenary shot the baker with another frown, feeling now he was on the losing side and not wanting to prolong it anymore. "You best get going and go find your tarantula before it scurries away when it realizes it wants nothin' to do with you either."

Norah sighed overdramatically with relief, "Thank the Elder Gods, _finally_."

It was Mera's turn to laugh, much to the cowboy's displeasure. "Goodnight Norah."

Norah nodded her head, smiling earnestly at the healer. "Goodnight Mera. It is so wonderful you are here. I really did miss talking with you after all your help before."

"Me as well. I am glad Erron brought you by."

"Yes, thank you, again, Mera."

"You're welcome," Black interjected, mumbling unenthusiastically. Mostly to himself as it seemed as both women didn't even acknowledge him. If he hadn't been charitable and escorted Norah she wouldn't even know Mera existed at all.

Norah snapped her fingers, as if she didn't even hear him, as her face brightened at a sudden idea.

"Come by the kitchen tomorrow. Carver would be so happy to meet you. He is a bit strange, he's an Earthrealmer after all, however he is a great cook. We will cook you something for your first day."

The bounty hunter, adamantly annoyed, sighed through his nostrils. He'd never seen Norah this excited talking with another person —especially him.

 _Goddamn it. I thought you wanted to leave_.

"That sounds nice," Mera beamed. "Thank you. I'd be happy to come by.

Black glanced back and forth between them before his eyes landed on the baker grinning ecstatically that the healer accepted.

He didn't like it.

 _Go away_.

Norahclasped her hands together _,_ the usually stubborn and sulking woman uncharacteristically pleasant. "We can tell you all about the palace and where and where not to go."

"No doubt I will need directions. It's even bigger than what I imagined on the inside! How do you even find your way around?" Mera laughed.

"It truly is a maze in here," Norah confirmed, chuckling lightly back. "I cannot tell you how many times I got lost. I once ended up in the Zaterran's room by accident my first few weeks here. He was not there though, thankfully. At least, I do not think he was. But regardless, I can certainly help you until you find your way until you are more comfortable. I cannot tell you how nice it is to have another woman to talk to!"

Erron dragged a hand slowly over his face, grumbling into his palm at their camaraderie.

_I never should have fucking introduced them to each other._

"I do have to leave, but I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight again, Mera."

"Goodbye Norah."

The baker's eyes slid over to Erron, and her joyous expression dropped instantly at him; her face set into the foul grimace she always wore.

"... Black."

He scoffed. "Have fun with your _things_ ," was his listless goodbye, ignoring her stringent look. The healer jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

Norah ignored him and walked away from his door, turning around only to give a friendly wave at Mera — only for Mera — and mouthing 'thank you' at her before she continued on her way.

He gave a light sneer in response, watching the baker's form growing smaller down the hallway.

Still, he felt a small smile grace his features at the stubborn woman. Wondering why it still didn't matter how many times in the day she scowled, he still found her fun to banter with and tease. Perhaps it was him just knowing she did like him to some ironic degree. They did this almost every day — him poking her with a stick and her swatting at it like a feral alley cat.

He'd stop of course if she really did hate it, but their history after their initial distaste for each other had long since passed. Now, it left room for schoolyard insults at each other that he could tell she found humor in too once he got her flinging out insults at him, even if it took some working up to on her part. It was a friendly rivalry, even if he did want more than she did...

His eyes drifted to her ass again…

Mera's hand shot to his ear, pulling it harshly, and causing him to let out a pained grunt, before she released it.

"Quit pullin' my goddamn ear!" he grumbled indignantly, raising a finger at her. "You ain't my school marm, woman."

"What did I say about being _nice_?" she scolded, her eyes flickering over to Norah briefly before back to him.

"Believe me… I _was_ nice," he remarked, his mind flashing back to years ago when the only thing they wanted to do was kill each other. He shrugged lightly. "All things considerin'."

"She doesn't need you bothering her when she's trying to work, Erron," she castigated. Before throwing a sharp, knowing look at him. "And I'm sure Norah would prefer not to bake dinner loaves for Kitana Kahn with _soggy_ fingers."

Black laughed lightly at her, both of them watching the baker dip around the corner and out of sight. "Jealous?"

She laughed. "You're funny. But no. I'm merely sympathetic. I do like Norah, even if she is a bit naive and brash. But I also know what it is like to be _bothered_ at work by you. I am surprised she hasn't tried to poison your food yet."

He chuckled back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't go plantin' _that_ thought in her head tomorrow during your little pow-wow —she'd do it. Otherwise I'll make you eat my dinner first… and I can just settle on _dessert_ with Norah."

Mera's mouth tugged briefly to the side at his joke, and she blinked before turning to him after a moment's pause. "Will I ever get to hear that story about you two? I don't think she'd tell me a version that is not a bit one-sided."

He sighed tiredly at the thought, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Not even _I_ got all the time in the world for that. It's a very, _very_ long story."

Mera chuckled airily. "Well… there's one thing I know about Norah that will give you some hope."

The mercenary cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to clarify with curiosity. "What's that?"

"Norah hates bugs," Mera said. "She would certainly never kiss one."

He gave her a smug, lifted eyebrow; he was fully aware of the baker's phobia. "Oh believe me sugar, I know she was just mudslingin'. She can leave whenever she wants, but I know she'd still never do it. Why'd you think I held off lettin' her go?" — he winked— "Sure as hell wasn't to give the spider a head start."

Mera simply sighed tiredly at him, rolling her eyes before walking back into his room towards his plate of food. "You really are an imbecile, Erron."

The gunslinger pulled his lips into a cavalier smile as he looked towards the hallway again…

"You _both_ like it."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I will be mean and say this may or may not remain ambiguous if I want to continue and make this a story or not, or just leave it here. I'll see how I feel. I have ideas, but I also have too many fics to keep track of.
> 
> Hoped you enjoyed it regardless. Norah is a cameo from one of my other stories, her presence was a gift to my readers over the years since people asked me on my last/first chapter on Tumblr what would happen if Mera and Norah met each other. Well, here ya go. Also, for those that do know who Norah is, I hoped you liked this little 'ret-con' of their feelings towards each other.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. *offers Cheez-wiz* Can I offer you this delicious can of cheese in exchange for kudos and comments? :D


	5. The Doctor(s) Are In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here I am again... back with my bullshit and with no self-control, so now we got ourselves a WIP/story instead of a 4-parter.
> 
> (ಥ﹏ಥ) Please enjoy while I go punish myself by eating copious amounts of pumpkin pie.

** Mirror Match   
** **Chapter 5  
** _**The Doctor(s) Are In** _

* * *

Carver sympathized with Norah’s plight, truly he did, but he also couldn't help but laugh at her until there were tears spilling from his eyes. In fact, he nearly lost his balance of his perch on the edge of the table he sat on. Eventually, after wiping a hand down his face to clear the tears away he shot her with a joke he couldn't help but make— especially when she continued to glower across the room at his reaction.

"Does his dick wear a cowboy hat, too?" he snickered, amused by his own, and always unappreciated, wit. "Did it tip it at you and say _howdy_?"

The baker, on the other hand, scowled harshly at his response to her encounter with Erron Black from the previous night — finding it the opposite of humorous as her glare grew irater from her cot.

"It's not _funny_ , Carver."

He objected, laughing more at her, as she lay on her back on her bed (though the uncomfortable cot both palace servants had in their assigned rooms was only more slightly tolerable than sleeping on the stone floor).

"It's a _little_ funny. Like a nun going into a porn shop and still getting surprised when she sees dildos everywhere." He pantomimed, throwing his hand over his heart as he pulled his face into the most shocked-faux expression while straining his voice to mimic a high-pitched elderly Scottish lady. "Bless me bagpipes — it be the Devil's House of Schlongs!"

She huffed, unamused by his banter as she fixed her eyes to the ceiling; acting if his presence in her room was nonexistent.

The African American/Earthrealm born cook for the Kahn's palace couldn't help but roll his eyes at her.

"Oh, c'mon Norah, _laugh_ a little— it won't kill you. Besides, if you didn't want to be laughed at you shouldn't have told me. You got nobody to blame but yourself."

The sour Outworlder on the cot blew a flippant raspberry at him in response.

"Mature," Carver castigated, though a smirk stretched lightly at her that he knew she could see out of her peripheral vision. To say he hadn't expected this reaction would have been a bold-face lie considering her.

He had known Norah ever since she first came to work in the kitchens with him —Carver having migrated from Earthrealm to Outworld long before to escape a bad situation. Over the past four years, both were the last of an ensemble that eventually left over the years in the small palace kitchen; the baker and the cook left to handle the Kahn’s and her ministers meals.

It didn't matter; all they really needed was two chefs in the kitchen at a time unless there were further members of her council invited around Kitana Kahn's meeting table. Otherwise, it was just Norah and Carver creating the meals for Empress and her ministers. In doing so, it brought the two opposite characters together as friends.

Ironically as well: Carver was more light-hearted and goofier in comparison to Norah's stringent stoicism, and while it usually clashed against each other on the rough days, oftentimes, it resulted in nothing but fun banter between the two. They had a sibling-esque relationship, and like most siblings, liked to fling insults at each other. And boy, did Norah give him a good opportunity tonight.

"What were you expecting, really?" the male cook asked, rubbing his thumbnail across his chin. "You _could_ have left the minute you heard them bumping uglies."

Norah's face twisted into a disgusted glower at his Earthrealm idiom as she continued to stare up at the ceiling on her cot. "Thank you for causing me to think of _that_ , Carver, and for your information it is my job as a cupbearer to be excused by the person I am serving. He hadn't excused me; therefore, I could not leave," she insisted as an excuse.

"Uh huh. Sure," he replied dubiously before pausing and heightening his voice once again. "Bless me habit! They doth do the deed of the foulest carnality!"

The baker raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I do not need to _explain_ myself anymore to you. And you are not as funny as you _think_ you are," Norah rebuked back harshly.

The male cook's teeth bared as his eyes narrowed with teasing impishness. "Or maybe you didn't leave because you _liked_ hearing them doing the horizontal hula on the other side of the door… imagining it was _you_ and not _Mera_."

The cupbearer turned her blazing eyes to him while the rest of her posture remained stone-like.

"It's _absolutely_ not funny anymore."

The Earthrealm male made a silent "O" with his mouth, reading her easy like a book, especially when he saw her cheeks turn red. "Ohh... you were, _weren't_ you? You _dirty_ little nun."

"This is the last time I tell you anything," Norah avowed suddenly with a scathe.

He scoffed. "Stop being such a stick in the mud. Light joking at someone's expense never hurt anyone—especially when it's you and not me."

The cupbearer turned her eyes back to the ceiling of her room, shaking her head lightly at him as she folded her arms over her chest. The stubborn servant refused to admit anything, although they both knew she didn't need to; it was too obvious.

Carver knew she had a crush on Erron Black, even before now, but the woman would have rather trekked through a sea of Kytinn centipedes than ever admit it.

He wasn't aware of Black's own thoughts about Norah, he assessed the cowboy liked her fine based on what she told him about the gunslinger, although Carver knew from palace gossip enough that the unapologetic gigolo would stick his dick in just about anyone that wore a skirt. And when he meant anyone, it really was _anyone_ female— no matter the variety. If Carver's cheese grater in the kitchen had a skirt on it, he was certain he'd have to hide it from Erron. So, it wasn't really a stretch to consider that despite their past bumpy relationship, he'd go after Norah eventually.

In all honesty, he didn't particularly like the mercenary all that much, but could tell that the baker needed to get laid _bad_ , and if Black was the one that wanted to romp with her, then so be it. In Outworld, she could do worse, and _had_ if he recalled correctly.

He knew she had only one brief drunken one night stand years ago (with someone that was not Erron), and from what she attested, it was nothing to boast about; rather disappointing and brief from the little she spoke about it. Unfortunately for her, Carver could tell it left her with a misconstrued view about sex. So, not wanting to be dissatisfied again, chose to remain chaste after getting a taste rather than indulging until she found the right partner, and used culture as an excuse to him whenever he brought it up.

Carver wasn't an idiot, though.

While there was a backwards credo against Outworld women to remain untouched until marriage, Norah still didn't exactly qualify for that _lifestyle_. It was for more highborn families, looking to marry their children off for power and money between the social classes. Poor women, like the way Norah had grown up, while expected to be lady-like, weren't harshly enforced to adhere to the same requirements. Outworld tended to have a more _Roman_ mindset about sex in that regard. Carver had seen so much public fornication in the palace and on the Z'unkaharah streets (when they thought they were out of view) that he was a bit numb to it all. It was everywhere he turned.

So, after taking that into consideration, Carver honestly didn't get her determination on remaining an old maid. She was a beautiful woman underneath all the sourness and could fuck anybody she wanted to if she was bold enough to make the first move. Though, she never would be the first to initiate anything, and he knew it wasn't just due to her insecurities. He got it; Outworlders tended to look down on anyone that looked like an Earthrealmer (even if they were born in Outworld like Norah) so she never tried. What was the point if you were expected to be shot down, thinking nobody wanted you?

However, even he knew that was bullshit despite all the times he experienced the same prejudice. Not _everyone_ in Outworld had that mindset, but it did help him understand why she had her sights more on Erron Black than anyone else: he was the only available _Earthrealmer_ she knew that wouldn't reject her. Not only because she knew he wouldn't pass up the free chance to fuck, but because they were acquaintances for so many years and knew him better than any random person she could set eyes on for a one night stand. The only dilemma was that she couldn't stand him— or so she claimed— and thus, left her between a rock and a hard place…

He looked in her direction, an evil troublemaking thought coming to mind, as he watched her sulk.

Speaking of _hard_ places...

"I am a little jealous you got to see his dick and not me… " he paused, a sinful and purposeful smile stretching on his face. "Was it _nice?_ I bet it was"— Carver sucked in air through his teeth, his brown eyes off into space—"Mmm… man… him wearing those tight, _tight_ pants all the time. Strutting around like a horny peacock because he knows he's hot shit. And he _is_. He's got game: the accent, the swagger, a fucking nice body anybody would like to shimmy up like a coconut tree. Even if he is a man-slut. It doesn't really surprise me he's trying to lock-pick into your chastity belt just for shits and giggles."

The baker rolled her eyes into the back of her skull, an exasperated sigh escaping her. "He isn't. And he's an arrogant wretch— nothing more."

Carver shrugged in agreement. "Yeah— he's a smug douche. He's _still_ nice to look at, though. And I _know_ you know what I'm talking about."

"I do not actually," she fired back, playing oblivious as she narrowed her eyes at the ceiling.

"Oh, come on," he persisted. "Even you—little miss prude—had to have taken a peek at him every once in a while. You guys are on better terms since all that dramatic shit what two—four years ago? I can't keep track of _all_ your little squabbles with Desperado Boy."

"Yes," she uttered after a pause, but turned sharply to him and finished before he could throw out the wise crack on his tongue. "We _are_ on _better_ terms."

Carver clapped his hands, each time emphasizing a word:" Then"—"Give"— "Me"—"DETAILS"—"Carver"—"is"— _"booooored_!"

The female servant flashed him a look of baffled impatience. "There's nothing _else_ to mention."

The cook's mouth tugged to the side, regarding her with skepticism. "You really expect me to believe that he opened the door up, dick swinging for you to gawk at, took the food and left you alone? We both know he's never been _that_ nice to you."

He observed her expression darken, her eyes blinking rapidly as she turned her gaze to look at the stone wall adjacent to her cot, looking elsewhere but at him.

Carver snorted.

He'd known toddlers to have less obvious tells when they lied.

"He flirted with you, _didn't_ he?" Carver asked, before adding with a quick chuckle. "Again."

She stayed silent, which gave him his answer but also made him raise an eyebrow.

"Y'know… You usually tell me the 'despicable' things he says to you. Something tells me, maybe because you don't wanna spill it, is that you _liked_ it this time."

"I did _not_ like it," she protested sternly — a bit too quickly. "And he was drunk."

"Heh. Horny _and_ drunk, huh? He must have given you quite the zinger then if you're _this_ quiet about it."

Her nose crinkled, turning her eyes back to the ceiling, but still refusing to look at him.

" _Soooo,_ what did he say you didn't like so much?" Carver challenged. The cook bent his arm, planting the point of his elbow into the top of his thigh before resting his chin in his palm; his eyes laser-focused on her, before tapping his finger against the side of his cheek. "You know I ain't leaving till I find out."

He saw her bridge her eyebrows hard together, as if finally, and sourly concluding that Carver really wasn't going to leave her room until he heard it. And it was true; he would keep nagging her until she finally caved in. Norah had less patience than a bull with a matador waving a red flag; she always gave in eventually because it was her nature—and they both knew it.

Eventually, the cupbearer turned to him, raising a dubious eyebrow in his direction before uttering a question that even she knew was regrettably rhetorical. "If I tell you… will you promise you will not laugh?"

"You know I have no such restraint, and we both know you want it off your chest anyway, so you may as well tell me."

The baker sighed sorely, knowing he was right. Still, she refused to relent just yet, one of her fingers tapping against the outside of her bicep as she tightened her crossed arms closer around her.

Meanwhile, the cook waited by with gleeful anticipation that he kept hidden under a resolute poker face. It must have been good if she was taking her time. "Well?"

"Fine. He asked me…"— Norah paused to run a hand down her face— "He asked me when the last time I had sex was… and then invited me into his room if I felt the need to break my _celibacy_."

The male Earthrealmer couldn't help but frown as soon as he heard her apathetic and boring disclosure. His arm bent over to the side, dropping like a tree in the forest, while he blew a loud and disappointed raspberry in her direction.

"Mature," Norah said, castigating his words from earlier back at him.

"That's it? That's _all_ he said. Wow. That's more disappointing than the finale to _Game of Thrones_. I was expecting something a bit _juicer_ than that. Even 'Save a Horse, ride a Cowboy' would have been better," Carver clicked his tongue; all of it feeling a bit anticlimactic.

Although, as he studied the way Norah noticeably flushed, he knew that she was only giving him the cliffs-notes version of the ordeal.

He squinted his eyes in suspicion at her.

Oh… there was _much_ more.

"You are so full of shit. You don't _really_ expect me to believe it's as vanilla as that, do you?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what did he _really_ say that _kneaded your dough_?"

Norah flashed him with a staunch glare, and despite it seemed she did want to relate more, she refused.

"I have already told you _more_ than I care to admit"— her eyes narrowed more venomously at him— "You are lucky I divulged even _that_ much."

Carver threw up his hands in defense. "Alright fine. Don't get your flying monkeys out. I was just pointing out you are full of crap. Can I at least ask if you were considering it or not?"

Norah scoffed bitterly — a bit too forced and quick to be genuine. "I would _never_ consider it."

"Pfft. Why not?"

She paused, his sincere and un-sarcastic inquiry catching her off guard before the baker's brows formed into a hard line of confusion. "What?"

"In all seriousness, Norah: why not?" Carver questioned earnestly. He was genuinely interested in what her answer would be.

"You like him — he obviously likes you — so just go get it out of your system. You might be surprised how much better you feel afterwards instead of moping in here like some horny Victorian lady whose corset-strings are too tight. Just _loosen_ up already and go for it. Even if it _is_ Black you fancy for your Mr. Darcy."

She turned to him, her visage firm and acidic. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said _no_ ," she snarled at him, a bit too rudely. "Leave it alone. For _once_."

"Jesus Christ on a fucking tortilla, woman," he cursed tiredly; annoyed. "Are you afraid your gonna eat him like a praying mantis after you fuck him or something? Goddamn— just go _fuck_ him already. Who knows, you might be more fun to be around after riding his dick for a night."

Norah rolled briskly over on her side before sitting upright in her cot with her feet dangling over the side. "I will _NOT_ give him the satisfaction, Carver!"

"Cut the shit. We both know you _want_ to give him the _satisfaction_ and with him returning the favor," Carver shot back, still peeved, but wiggling his eyebrows jokingly at her. "I think it's still kind of cute you are still trying to fight how much you do. Black probably thinks it's _cute_ too that you're after him like a chunky kid on a cupcake after a summer at fat-camp."

"I do _not_ want him," Norah spat through her teeth.

"Whatever you say _10 Things I Hate About You_ ," Carver taunted. "I personally get a bit tired of the whole enemies-to-lovers trope. _Soooo_ predictable. Everybody knows they're gonna get nasty in the end. You may as well just fast-forward to the good part."

"What are you _talking_ about?" the Outworlder scowled, her expression crimping in irritation at his Earthrealm references.

Carver waved a hand, dismissing that his euphemisms went over her head. "All I am saying is just go cut to the chase and go do the _Boot-Scoot-and Boogie-Sexy-Time_ with him. You may as well go back to his room _now_ instead of being like little possessed Reagan from _The Exorcist_ acting like I'm gonna take your masturbation cross away from you every time I suggest something. Just go exorcise your demons, already."

"Why are you so adamant about this? I thought you would oppose the idea the same as I?" she insisted, her gaze incredulous as if she was taken aback that he was not more on her side.

He still was, but just not in the way she wanted or expected him to be. The Earthrealmer did want to see his friend happy, more pleasant, and for his sake and everyone that crossed her path in the palace, less tense and abrasive… but fucking definitely more for his sake. Getting laid always made him easier to be around, so he could only speculate the wonders it would do for her.

"You're not a nun, Norah," Carver pointed out softly, his tone amiable yet direct. "So why are you forcing yourself to stay in your little cloister? Brooding and bitching to me even though you can leave your monastery anytime you want? What are you afraid of? It's just sex."

The baker lowered her chin, her hands grappling over the edges of her cot as she scratched her fingernails against the wood frame. He saw her wince after a brief pause, her thoughts bouncing and battling against Carver's question and her own conviction on the entire idea, making her further uncomfortable.

To his surprise, she found her voice to tell him. Mumbled, hesitant, but for the sake of her own well-being, had to say something: "I simply… I simply do not want to be another mark to him. Another conquest to feed his ego. I… I do not want him… to see me _that_ way."

His eyes widened at her, and for once, didn't have a snarky thing to say.

He… he hadn't expected her to say _that_.

He could do nothing but study her; simply watching her sullen and pained demeanor with friendly sympathy but slight shock at her admission. It wasn't what he had expected to hear, though he comprehended and accepted it, and kicked himself for not catching it sooner.

Norah didn't want just sex; she was craving something else.

The chef felt a bit flabbergasted and ran a palm along the back of his neck and dragged it along the front as he grimaced at her.

Oy vey… this was _not_ what he thought it was at _all_.

However, he understood her more now, and why she had been pushing back on the idea as hard as she had. But for fuck sake, _whhhy_ did it have to be the fucking cowboy of all people? It only made giving her advice more difficult. Black was not a one-woman-kind-of-guy, and as Carver continued to watch her from his perch on her table, he could tell she was very well aware of the fact too— she had to be— and for a brief moment, he saw himself in her shoes as he reminisced about his own love life.

Everybody wanted to be respected and not simply a brief toy to be played with and then quickly forgotten. Carver had gone through similar relationships with guys, investing more than the other clearly wanted, and the rejection was a bit brutal despite the fun times. Her personal admittance resonated more than she suspected it did as she shook her head lightly as her gaze stayed on the floor, thinking he didn't understand.

"I'm a fool…" she muttered. "I shouldn't have— I shouldn't have said anything. It is ridiculous, anyway."

Carver sighed at her dejection and lifted himself up from the table, walking over to sit next to her on the cot as her fingers moved from the frame to rest and fidget into a ball she rested on her lap.

Frankly, he wasn't too sure how to feel about it. Part of him said it was a bad idea and she was right to not want to get involved with the gunslinger.

However… there was also another part of him that was amused and pleased to see her fix her thoughts on some other emotion other than being staunch— even if it was all still under the same mask.

The cook was a bit conflicted… he had no idea until now she had a crush on Erron Black _this_ bad, but at least now all her bullheadedness about the marksman's flirting and Carver's jokes made sense.

She wanted more besides just fucking him—she wanted to feel something else — because she had never known it… but longed for it.

Simply, she just wanted to date someone. To be woo'd and longed for even if it didn't result in anything long-term, which Carver knew she was aware would most certainly be the outcome. The cook didn't see her as the marrying type and Erron Black definitely wasn't. She just wanted to have the experience under her belt; just so she didn't feel so lonely.

"How long?" Carver asked gently, a small benign smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; one meant to be comforting.

The baker looked at him, assessing him quietly for what he meant before she bit her lip. "Not long… but long enough."

"I can't say I don't get it. Everybody gets infatuated now and then," the Earthrealmer admitted. "With that being said, I don't want you to get your hopes up, and you don't either I'm guessing?"

Norah nodded solemnly. "I know what he is. I am not blind to it."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Then are you sure it's not just some passing fancy? That you just kind of _like_ him instead of, ya know, _like-like-ing_ him?"

"I honestly don't know," she acknowledged before adding glumly. "I feel as if it is both, and I simply just wish for it to be nothing. But the last time I had this kind of… _fixation_ , it turned out to be a disappointment. I do not want to go through the same thing as before."

"You mean with Jan Fai?"

She nodded.

"And have you… _been_ with anyone since him?"

The baker shook her head with embarrassment. "I _do_ want to be with others, but… I don't know what to do… I am never interested enough… and those I am… well… Black is the only one I talk to that is not so affronted by me. Everyone else seems to be…"

Carver smiled lightly. "Well, not hard to guess why, I'm afraid. You are a bit prickly and Texas boy is used to cactuses, I'm sure."

"I do not know what to do…" she lamented to him, his joke failing, and he grimaced at her unrelenting despondence.

He felt bad and completely unsure of what advice to give her. Though he guessed that anything he said wouldn't have helped her feel adamantly at ease and vanish all her worries away. Heartache was always a hard subject for him and seeing that she was trying to avoid something similar happening in the future, well, he couldn't really blame her for trying to bottle it up. So, not wanting to leave her with no advice at all, he gave her what was on his mind.

"It's up to you."

She glanced at him, her expression unimpressed, before he continued: "The way I see it: you have no idea — well kind of you know him better than I do — of what his thoughts really are. He might surprise you or he might do what you are expecting. Nobody knows. You can shake a Magic-8 ball till it breaks, or commune with the spirits via Ouija Board, but nobody will have the answer for you that you won't get unless you try."

The baker stayed silent, sponging it up, while wringing her fingers in her lap as he continued.

"However, I know for a fact, that you're not doing yourself any favors ping-ponging the idea back and forth in your head expecting for the answer to come. Believe me I've done it myself. You'll never know unless you try. You might get your heart broken, sure, there's always that possibility no matter who it is you're wanting to roll around in the sheets with, but it's better finding out for certain instead of brewing and making yourself more sick about it. Even if you do end up with an achy-breaky heart. At least you'll know and you can move on with your life."

Her fingers stopped moving in her lap as soon as Carver finished, both remaining mute as he let Norah absorb his two cents on the matter. The male cook could tell it encouraged her slightly despite her demeanor of apprehension as she bit the inside of her cheek next to him.

Perhaps she also had the same idea as his suggestion but had needed it voiced into the air to help her tumultuous thoughts become a little less muddled. Regardless, she gazed up at him and gave a weak smile.

"I suppose you have a point," she admitted—but then frowned suddenly. "But I do not like the fact that I also have to be in his presence almost every day. It makes things… rather difficult."

"I get you. Nobody likes being around an ex," Carver agreed. "But the way I see it: it is going to be difficult in the _present_ or _future_ regardless, so who cares? "

She furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, _presently_ , it's difficult because of how hard you wanna jump his bones. If Black breaks your heart in the _future_ after your escapades, then it'll be even more difficult cause, knowing you, you _will_ turn into Reagan from the Exorcist and just straight up wanna murder him. Being around him 24/7 will amplify those feelings more too."

She sighed in defeat, before he gave a placating smile. "But… maybe things get… very, _very_ nice between the two of you both. You have some spicy times, then move on cordially. Be better friends in the end— as long as you can both act like adults afterwards. Black I'm sure can—I am eyeballing _you_ more doubtfully in that regard. You wanted to murder me just for touching your rolling pin the other day."

Norah's mouth pressed into a hard line, "He doesn't have friends."

"Maybe he wants one," Carver shrugged. "Sounds like Mera is a friend. And from lunch with her the other day, she seems to have no problem just remaining so with him even after they're, ya know… _done_. At least, that's what I got from her."

The baker grumbled out a disbelieving _'mmph'_ at him before she looked down at her lap again. A thought came to his mind and he leaned forward from the cot until he knew she could see him out of the corner of her eye.

"Can I make one suggestion?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him but didn't turn to acknowledge him; it gave him permission enough.

"If you get the feeling he likes you beyond just wanting to stuff the turkey with you, then withhold sex at first and give it a few dates before you do anything with him. Let him ask you out first though."

The baker threw up her hands, looking at him with irritation. "That contradicts _everything_ you just told me to do! You just said: go up there now. That I should be the one to propose anything first."

He chuckled and raised a finger at her like a schoolmarm. "That was _before_ I knew how much you actually liked him. I thought you just wanted to release some tension like a mason jar full of horny angry bees. But, if you are serious about this, and you get the feeling he can be a proper Southern Gentleman, then make him work for it."

Her mouth gaped at him, flustering over what to say in response, as if what he had told her was too ridiculous to comprehend.

"There is no try, only do," he added, impersonating Yoda. "Right, Carver is."

"How do I—"

Carver stopped her, his index and middle fingers playfully walking up her arm with each word as he answered her in a singsong: "Let/ him/ come/ to/ _you/_ first/ Betty Crocker."

"But he won't—"

"He will if he wants to stir your skirt yogurt as badly as you say he does. So, not up for negotiating, Marian the Librarian."

"But I—"

Carver pinched her nose between his thumb and pointer finger and gave it a playful wiggle. "Sing it with me: Don't be a hussy/ don't be/ a hussy, _hussy_."

She scowled at him over his fingers, and he laughed as he let go of her nose and stood up.

He placed his hands on his hips, sternly but jestingly scolding her as she remained seated on her cot.

"Don't make it easy for him. Make him squirm as badly as you are now. Then you can do whatever kinky shit you both want: candle-wax, chain and whip each other with a fish, or smother each other in the blood of your enemies as an homage to the Gods while a goat watches— or, ya know… whatever you Outworlders do to get in the mood."

The cupbearer regarded him as if she was about to vomit. "Outworlders are not that… _specific_ , Carver."

"Eh," he shrugged. "Earthrealmers are not better I'm afraid. You'd be surprised how weird people get in the bedroom. I've been scarred for life after getting too drunk and curious on Google let me tell you."

She raised an eyebrow at him, before he smirked and continued: "Maybe you'll find out for yourself once Black finally has you 'jingling his spurs'." Carver's hand cupped air, his fingers wiggling to imitate fondling balls, and which earned him an immediate snort of disgust from her.

"In all seriousness: go on some dates, let him make the first move, then you can"— he grinned as devilishly and lewdly as the chuckle that accompanied it— "have him slather his mayo inside your bologna sandwich all you want."

She responded with a tired, shallow sigh as he snickered.

"I really _despise_ your Earthrealm jokes," she grumbled, though he still saw her mouth curve into a quick smile, offering her thanks after a timid and brief moment's pause.

He nodded his head, a silent 'you're welcome' before he turned his heel and called over his shoulder as he returned back to his own room: "You love them — you're just mad cause you don't get them!"

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the palace, settled into her new occupation, Mera couldn't help but roll her eyes at her current and unwilling patient. But, besides her current annoyance, the healer was more than content in her new surroundings and occupation.

Immediately, the private, windowless grey granite-stone room had been an improvement over operating out of her personal home. Not only because she had access to more equipment and supplies that did not come out of her pocket, but it was also nice to be able to feel a part of a team; to share experiences and ideas with.

Though, because of Erron's involvement, it had been a bit rough at first; vicious rumors spread fast (even if they were true), but after she proved her skills, she made camaraderie with other healers that weren't so closed-minded. Her new clientele also improved, most of them palace officials with the odd servant and slave now and then when the designated healer for their class didn't have the expertise; their wounds were particularly brutal and usually there was nothing, no matter the skill-level of the healer, could do.

The only thing that was from her former practice, was the last client she treated at her house. However, this time, Erron hadn't come to see her for massages or, well… the _other_ kind of massages… though she speculated he would still seek the latter out after she was finished, despite the gashes on his back and arms.

Black winced, the healer applying a generous amount of bactericidal salve to his back that stung worse than his wounds. He had his shirt off and sat faced away from her on the wooden examination table with his torso and face dotted with various colored bruises while he kept his eyes to the opposite wall that held the shelf with various colored bottles, tools and clean gauzes.

The gunslinger hissed in pain through his teeth as she continued to clean the ghastly three open wounds in his back; pressing it lightly as his hands gripped and white-knuckled the edge of the table.

"I barely touched you, Erron," she remarked dryly, her eyes on the back of his head.

He let out a scoff at her words. "Torr's touch is more feather-like compared to your's, woman."

She said nothing and continued, smiling inwardly at the griping bounty hunter, as she dabbed the now stained white cloth against the three red lines on his left shoulder blade; claw marks that ran deep and long down his back.

Erron hissed and winced again: "What the fuck are you pattin' on my back, anyhow?" he growled, peering over his shoulder at her with a glower. "I asked to get patched up, not tortured."

"It's just oil from the Galus plant," she informed phlegmatically. "Yes, it burns on application, but heals better than anything I have on the shelf. I thought you were a _hardened_ mercenary so I thought I would forgo telling you— thinking you could handle it."

"Nothin' ever wrong with a warning," Black pointed out before he groaned in pain.

Mera ignored his remark, eventually letting the soiled cloth drop on the surface of the table, no longer needing it, as his shoulders visibly tensed. It did burn horrendously but the pain was nothing but momentary; seconds it usually lasted. He was being overdramatic.

"Quit being an infant," she berated him as she walked around the table to stand in front of him. Not even the young male slave she had seen earlier to set a broken bone in his leg complained as much.

"Then quit fussin' over nothin," Black reproached casually back. "All I was lookin' was to get cleaned and sewn up— not basted in whatever shit you're putting on me."

"Yes, how terribly _selfish_ of me to insure you do not pus and fester," she retorted smoothly. "Quite inconsiderate. How will I sleep tonight?"

The gunslinger said nothing, choosing to let it slide, as she grasped his wrist and assessed the gashes on his right forearm; three identical slashes from claws running vertically across the top. Not severe, just barely escaping the need for stitches. She had wanted to, to be safe, but he had objected; telling her it was not necessary. So, deciding to trust his word she ignored the need for them. He _did_ heal fast, but they both knew the lashes on his back were not up for negotiating; they were much deeper.

Reaching over, she grabbed the opaque red bottle and gauze next to him.

Black frowned at her, the corner of his mouth tugging bitterly to the side. " _More_ stinging shit? Is this the thanks I get for gettin' you the job? Maybe I should have asked if they were lookin' for any helpin' hands in the dungeons."

"You really are my worst patient, Erron," she exasperated before pulling the cork out of the bottle with her fingers. "And I think I have already given you enough _thanks,_ the other night."

He smiled smugly, the subject of sex seemingly erasing any ill feelings towards her _torturing_ him a moment ago.

"Wouldn't be opposed to hearing it again…" his fingers from his uninjured arm came up to lightly pinch and tug on the white apron string tied in a bow around the middle of her stomach. The apron itself ran over the front of her forest green long-sleeved uniform shirt and she could feel him trailing his eyes over the row of brass buttons that the apron didn't cover; the same ones that ran in a line up to the banded collar that clung to her neckline… Black already undressing her in his mind…

She rolled her eyes again at him.

By the Gods, he could be so annoying— she wasn't even _finished_ yet.

"I do have another ailment that only a doctor as _fine_ as you can attend too…" he hinted, his words like satin, as he tugged at the cord's end slowly; the mercenary watching the bow loops grow smaller and loosening the knot. "In fact… I'm afraid it's a matter of _urgency,_ darlin'…"

The healer's brows bluntly linked in irritation at him before she droned: "You'll live."

With the red bottle that held an equally crimson liquid called 'Cat's Claw', she dumped it on his skin without warning. It was nicknamed Cat's Claw for a reason and was worse than the Galus plant because it stung longer.

Much, _MUCH_ longer…

Black barked out a pained grunt as the red liquid bubbled against his skin, turned white, mixed with his blood and turned the ivory froth pink before harmlessly rolling off his arm like ocean foam.

" _Goddamn_ it, Mera!"

She ignored his irate (and childish in her opinion) caterwaul while she fished inside her apron pocket to pull out a clean cloth to wipe away excess foam.

"It's just a simple medicine to kill any infection."

"It's _killed_ and buried!" he fumed scathingly.

"By the Gods, Erron, you complain more than a pinchpenny at a market stall. I haven't even dug a needle and string into you yet," she reprimanded, grabbing the gauze, and beginning to wrap it over his arm. "Which is what you will need for the ones on your back."

"I can handle the stitches — which is _all_ I came in here for," the gunslinger reminded, flashing her with an irked look before he watched her wrap the bandage around his limb.

"I don't know Erron, now I am starting to think you will pass out the moment they touch your skin," she derided sardonically.

The Kahn's guard snorted but chose to let the conversation come to a pause; simply watching her face as she continued to treat him. A quiet, mollifying lull lingered in the air for many stretched out moments, nothing of disquiet except for the sound of their breathing between the two of them…

Though, she knew the peace and silence wasn't going to last long and she was right. He didn't even make it five minutes…

Black must have been in a good mood despite his belly-aching — or just bored waiting for her to finish— because she felt the fingers of his opposite hand start to roam lightly up the outside of her thigh and over her evergreen-colored skirt, before he smoothed his palm over her hip; resting it and massaging her through the fabric…

Without looking at him, her attention solely on his arm, she smacked his hand sharply away. He grimaced and she gloated; knowing her smack had sent a slight tremor up his arm and ended at his afflicted back. He deserved it.

"Now that ain't befittin' bedside manner, doctor. _Attacking_ your patients," he jested.

"It is when the patient is uncooperative," she retorted back.

He lifted an eyebrow, his hand coming back like a relentless magnet, before fitting it into the dip of her waist and coasting her closer to him…

"I still think I'm owed an apology…" he intoned huskily. "I know a _few_ ways you can give it to me that I'll _more_ than readily accept…"

She halted, shot him a glare, then flicked his bruised nose hard with her fingers; causing him to wrinkle his nose at the sharp, but innocent pain.

"Ow," he groused.

"Enough Erron, or I'll give you more Cat's Claw," she warned sternly, her tone professional.

He sucked his teeth. "Have it your way, then," he grumbled bitterly as he dropped his hand and placed it flat on the table next to him, the healer fighting back a smile at him.

Mera looked at him briefly, finishing tying up the gauze, and asked the question that had been at the back of her mind when he first came in. "Was it worth it by the way? What did you get in return for winning besides future scars?"

Erron reached over to his equipment on the far side of the wooden examination table and plucked the glass vial that was tucked in a leather holder attached to his gun belt. The viscous liquid inside glowed green, fluorescent and almost blinding the longer she continued to stare at it; and knowing who he had just sparred with, the healer had a good idea what it was. The gunman waved the glass jar lightly back and forth in the air, a smug and silent _'Worth it_ ' indicated solely just by his expression, before placing it back down next to his gun belt, shirt and armor.

"I take it Reptile was not happy he lost the bet," Mera noted, walking around the table; her eyes landing on the lacerations and multi-colored bruises still forming on his back. "He certainly looked like he put up a good fight."

Erron shrugged. "He'll skulk about it for a few days and then get over it."

"What would you have to give him if _you_ lost?" she asked, picking up the already sterilized needle and dark thread she left sitting behind him.

"My hat," Black answered, pinching the brim between his fingers. "And I ain't about to part with that again to him."

"Why in all the realms would the Zaterran want your hat for?" Mera bemused. A slight smile creeped on her face as she suddenly pictured the sour reptilian Kahn's guard strutting about the palace in Erron's hat, gloating in triumph.

"Cause he hates the sight of it. It sits in a box in his room for a week while I do the stewin'" —the gunslinger glowered suddenly— "I don't know what company he keeps in that box with my hat but the last time I got it back it smelled like rotten shit."

"Oh, the poor _, helpless_ hat," she pouted mockingly at him after threading the needle into the eyehole, making him scoff out a brief chuckle at her callous _sympathy_ for his beloved headwear.

The healer placed a hand on his back, giving him a light pat to him to silently let him know she was about to begin. He didn't acknowledge her besides giving a brief, accepting nod, before she set to work.

He understandably tensed under her palm as soon as the needle passed through the first layer of peeled back skin, his hand from his uninjured arm tightening into a fist that he had on top of his thigh. A small runnel of blood poured down like a river down his back from the gash as she connected the tissue together and pulled the string through the other side; one suture down.

"You whine like a child about the Galus oil and Cat's Claw, but this is fine?" Mera chastised, shaking her head at him. Despite that she sensed he didn't really want to engage in any further chatter while she worked on his back, conversations always made stitches go faster for her patients. Also, she didn't want to miss a moment to playfully ridicule him when she could.

Black looked briefly over his shoulder at her before turning his attention back to the wall. "I've had stitches before."

"You could have fooled me," Mera commented, looking over his somewhat unmarked tanned back. "Besides your tally marks, I do not see any evidence on your back except for some faded white lines." The healer had to squint to see them in the low lighting, they were there, but hardly discernible; nothing more than slight pigmentations.

"Past stitches," he answered passively. "From work. The ones you see were the… _noteworthy_ ones."

"Hmm… How many are from Skarlet, then?" Mera asked, raising a slight judgmental eyebrow as she noticed the odd arrangement of perpendicular lines on his uninjured shoulder blade that looked suspiciously like a sigil.

He let out a laugh. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She returned a light chuckle as she finished the first gash of his wounds, moving inwards towards the next talon mark. The healer worked in silence for a moment, Black exhaling audibly out of nose, while she searched for another topic they could talk about as he kept his eyes forward.

As Mera looked about the room, hoping something would spur another topic, her eyes landed on her desk and the untouched plate of food that had been brought in seconds before Erron barged in— aggravating her and interrupting her lunch.

Her brown eyes passed over the cold slab of poultry, the one she left with her fork still sticking upwards from it, until they landed on the small round biscuit…

The woman's eyes glinted, raising her chin at him from behind, before she smiled demurely; the bread instantly making her think about the other day…

"I met Norah's friend, Carver," Mera began, "He _is_ a very good cook. The best I have seen. Which I am sure is the only reason an Earthrealmer can retain such a high position in the palace."

She paused, her thoughts inadvertently thinking back to the meal he had made and felt her mouth water. "What was it he served… "— the healer stopped, the needle in her hand ceasing as well, and poked sharply at his skin; causing him to stiffen uncomfortably— "Ah, yes an 'Outworld's version of a _Cubano_ ' I believe he called it."

Black shifted slightly when she finally pierced his flesh and ran the needle and thread through. Mera continued, albeit still picturing her lunch the other day and causing her already starving stomach to growl even louder.

"I wish I had it now," Mera sighed. "That was the best thing I have _ever_ tasted."

"It's just a sandwich," Erron said aloofly, failing to understand her joy about it.

"I do not care what it was— it was divine," she defended. "I do need to see Norah anyway for her shoulder, maybe I can see if I can get another one from him. Exchange massages for sandwiches."

"You're easy to win over, ain't ya?" he noted matter-of-factly.

Mera grinned knowingly at the back of his head. "Unlike somebody _else_ we know, don't we?"

He let out a small hiss of pain at the same time she tugged at the string and then snipped the end, finishing the middle mark. "Huh?"

Mera snorted at him. "You know who I refer to, Erron."

"Can't say I do," he threw out indifferently but still with a subtle layer of sarcasm.

"Are you really going to feign to not know what I am talking about?" Mera frowned skeptically at his pretending obliviousness, working on the last mark. "Or were you _that_ drunk from the other night to even remember you sampling the same fingers that made the bread for my _Cubano_ the next day?"

"I was just pokin' fun with her," Erron objected plainly with a scoff. "I ain't tryin' to invite little miss prissy baker over for a roll in the hay."

"But you would _like_ to," she teased perceptively. "And I think you would more than you care to admit you do. Perhaps it's because she is the only woman you can't get to fawn over you the minute you open your mouth to spew whatever prurient nonsense comes to mind."

He snorted loudly and derisively, saying nothing, but mutely disagreeing, nonetheless.

"You ain't gots no poker face for lyin' now, _baby's doll_ ," the healer mocked playfully, over-imitating his drawl and baritone voice as deep as she could.

"It's _babydoll…_ and I don't sound like that," Erron corrected with a discontent sneer before he paused and sighed; knowing he was caught. "You heard most of it then, I'm guessin'?"

"I heard _everything_ you both talked about," Mera acknowledged. "The bed was not that far away from the door. I thought it was quite entertaining."

"I thought you weren't jealous?" Black challenged, his eyes sliding over her attire as he glanced briefly over his shoulder at her. "Guess your outfit matches your thoughts on the matter: green."

"I still am not," the healer stated, "I don't love you Erron no matter how much you believe all women worship the ground you walk on. We are friends and nothing more. I think you just _want_ me to be jealous of Norah because you enjoy the idea of beautiful women fighting for a place in your bed. I'm sorry to say your ego will go as unfed as I have today."

He said nothing, though she could sense his amusement at her, as she continued her work. She bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes at the back of his head. The healer _did_ want to mention that while she was not at all envious of the baker, she had sensed, call it a female intuition, of how jealous Norah had been of _her_ the other night. But she refrained telling him that— truly not wanting to add more to his already ballooned sense of self-pride.

Though the baker and the healer's conversation hadn't been stunted or awkward during their lunch the other day, both women talking quite fondly with each other, occasionally Mera would catch a strange, winced expression appear quickly on the younger woman's face towards the healer when she thought Mera couldn't see it out of the corner of her eye. However, as quickly it had appeared, it would disappear.

It didn't take long for Mera to understand what it was. Living with a sibling like Sera, Mera had been well educated on what the silent facial gesture meant. It was jealousy, but Norah's was different from her brash and abrasive sister's; less hateful and more innocuous… more _longing_ …

She smiled affably.

Mera could tell the other woman wanted to be in her shoes with Erron, and just like the gunslinger, more than she would ever care to voice.

However, as her eyes scrutinized the back of the mercenary's head, knowing his ego and his love of his independence, Mera had her doubts that if those two did anything sinful right from the start it would be nothing but tumultuous afterwards; sullying the baker and the bounty hunter's already complicated relationship. It would just make everything more awkward between them. Especially when she felt Erron and Norah wanted different things.

While being able to hear most of the conversation from the bed, albeit being drunk herself and with Erron's form blocking the baker from the doorframe, she could only sense and speculate what Norah's words had carried. Mera had understood them to be friends and nothing more…

At _first_ …

Then the baker and the gunslinger's conversation had turned overwhelmingly flirtatious (one-sided, but still). It was quite clear Erron wanted her— he wanted any woman that was beautiful— and while she perceived that Norah wanted him as well, there had been something stopping her.

The healer thought it was just her stubbornness; the steadfast need to never give Erron an inch (which Mera respected), but after lunch with her and Carver, and after catching the same look Sera had given her ALL her life, did she realize that she didn't want to give Erron the _inch_ because she wanted to stifle his ego… but she was doing it for a more earnest and profound motivation.

Norah liked him, and wanted him, but knew what the bounty hunter was.

An unapologetic and asinine womanizer.

The girl wasn't an idiot; Mera could detect that the other woman was very cognizant of the fact and knew it wasn't a good idea to be involved with him. And well… Mera would have to agree despite her time with him having been positive.

Still, she felt quite bad for the shy baker and thought that she deserved _some_ indulgence; some brief memory of happiness even if nothing long-termed ever amounted from it. She didn't think that Norah wanted a marriage proposal from him — far from it. The cupbearer just wanted something — anything— close to affection. But she wanted a specific kind, not the empty, brief kind a rendezvous in the bedsheets gave.

It was all quite endearing in its own way, and unlike her twin, wanted to lend a helping hand. It was funny how much Norah reminded her of Sera sometimes, maybe that was the reason she wanted to aid her in her _unvoiced_ endeavor.

Also, Mera had her own motivations as well…

She couldn't keep seeing Erron for anything else but in a professional setting for a while after today. Soon she would be undergoing training, advancing her skills and learning the trade of the surgeons under the tutelage of her supervising healer. Her new apprenticeship would need _all_ her time. She couldn't be Erron's evening lady any longer but could remain his friend while she underwent her education. That was all she could offer henceforth.

Though she had some good times with Black, and appreciated him getting her the job and keeping his younger self away from her, he needed to move on to another target so she could devote her full attention to her career.

So, it was beneficial to her that she had caught Norah's gaze and was attending to Erron now; the timing was too convenient not to take advantage of. All she would need to do now was convince him to move in the baker's direction— a path he already seemed to be on anyway. While he was busy pursuing Norah, she could focus on her own professional interests.

However, Mera needed to see what she had to work with. The healer was only aware of one side of the gunslinger.

She needed to see if he could be more than just a skirt-chasing imbecile…

Mera smirked wickedly.

… and make him think it was _his_ idea to be anything but in his next conquest.

"So… how long have you wanted Norah in your bed… and with her legs wrapped _tight_ around your waist?" the healer asked scandalously, tugging on the string.

He flinched; though it was hard to tell if it was from a pain from the sutures or her brusque question.

"Come _again_?"

She let out a laugh, clarifying and repeating again with the same flirtatious tone: "How long has the baker made your _yeast_ rise, Erron?"

The mercenary barked out an abrupt, short chortle at her horrible and comical innuendo. "Well ain't you full of jokes today."

"It is quite obvious you want her under your bed sheets with you… and that she reciprocates it back," Mera verified slyly.

"If you didn't notice, she hates me," he argued, shaking his head as if what she said was ludicrous. "Never puts up with anythin' I say. Even when I am nice, she acts like I spit in her drinkin' cup. You heard it yourself."

She patted his back with sardonic sympathy. "Norah likes you. Just not you're overwhelming coquetries," Mera simply replied, before she flashed a pointed look at the back of his head. "I also think you are fully aware that she finds you attractive, which is why I think you constantly like to _tease_ her despite how much she shows you her claws. You enjoy the chase just as much as she likes you running after her— _hot_ in pursuit."

Black paused, saying nothing and mulling over her words. At first, Mera thought he would drop the subject, move on completely, but he surprised her when he finally let out a disgruntled sigh before muttering: "Coulda' fooled me… I'm nice, she hisses. I'm mean, she hisses. Someday's it's fun and sometimes it just gets on my fucking nerves. I ain't got a goddamn clue on what to do about her as much as I hate admittin' it."

Mera squinted her eyes at him, the phrase from him sounding off to her; it wasn't in his character to admit anything close to a genuine, heartfelt admission (granted his version of one), though she still appreciated his brief moment of humility…

"She's a goddamn, _stuck up,_ pain in my ass— always has been."

Mera let out a laugh.

Well _…_ she did say _brief_ …

"She _does_ like you," the healer reassured, "and perhaps she responds that way because she doesn't know any other side to you other than a strutting scoundrel, and in turn, you do not know her as well as you think you do. Perhaps if you talk to her— withholding your obnoxious flirting — she may come around to liking you more."

He gave an irreverent _'hmpf'_ at her in response as she grabbed the scissors, cutting and finishing up before wiping the excess blood from his back with a clean rag. Mera moved on to the final step: placing a large bandage to his back. The healer held out a large, white square piece of gauze in her hand and applied a delicate adhesive to the corners — glue to keep the bandage attached to his skin— before she smoothed it over the perimeter of three talon marks; blanketing the wound.

"Well, there is something beneficial about these stitches," she mused, walking around the table. "They will keep you at bay. I recommend no vigorous activity for a few days, at least. Perhaps you should take the opportunity to court her like a _gentleman_ instead of trying to court her to your bed like a common debaucher."

Mera tried to pass by him, her eyes locked instantly back to the plate of food like a starving vagabond as soon as she finished. However, as soon as she heard his boots connect to the ground while she rounded the table, his arm stopped her, halting her by holding her loosely around the middle of her wasit.

"Worked just fine with you," Erron pointed out, his eyebrows lifting curtly at his inclination while his hand tightened minutely into the curve of her waist. She ignored it, staring stoically at him, while she answered him.

"Because we were both just looking to satiate an itch— Norah doesn't want just _that_ , I can assure you. If you want her in your bed you first need to treat your approach and her differently," she informed him with a firm, but deferential, expression. "Your ironic charming lewdness will not work with her the same way it works with other women, no matter how much you think it will. She doesn't want that, Erron. You will achieve nothing and the only thing you will do is put a bigger wedge between the two of you if you continue."

Black sighed irritably. "So, what does she want then? Since you're so damn perceptive."

"She wants you to _respect_ her," Mera explained, tilting her head slightly in his direction. "She wants you to _earn_ it. And you do that by taking _time_ to get to understand her better."

He blinked at her, a bit uncertain about what she was suggesting, as if the idea was a foreign cultural custom.

"Meanin'... take her on a _date_ first?" he deprecated, the notion sounding as pleasant and comfortable as walking barefoot over burning coals.

"Yes," Mera affirmed. "Do something _other_ than use your words to worm your way under women's skirts."

He grinned sinfully, clicking his tongue at her, before giving her a playful mocking pout. "Oh… but I'm just so goddamn good at it, though…" his fingers roamed upwards on the side of her waist, along her rib-cage; the destination he had in mind easily understandable as she felt the pads of his fingertips graze the side of her breast before her hand came up and pushed his down; letting it settle back into the curve of her middle.

"I'm _serious_ , Erron," she reprimanded sternly, waiting for him to acknowledge she was still trying to have a professional discussion with him. He relented in silence after it took a moment to sink in, his expression cool as he waited.

"I think it would be good for you— the _both_ of you," the woman assessed. "Devote time to something other than throwing dirty insults at each other like a bunch of children in a mudhole. You both could use the outing— Norah certainly could. I doubt the poor thing gets out much. I have never seen anyone so in need for a date than her."

"She ain't gonna go for it, ya know," Black immediately disputed, completely doubtful about the idea. "She'll shoot it down the minute I fling it out, and I ain't exactly a wine 'em and dine 'em sort."

"You may be surprised, Erron," Mera assuaged. "Who knows you may both have more in common than you realize."

Black's mouth pressed into a hard line. "I ain't even got the slightest inclination on what that woman even likes. What would we even do?"

Mera gave him a quick, humored laugh. "You could just _ask_ her what she wants to do. It really is as simple as that."

The mercenary turned his face away from her, the hand on her waist going slack but still lingering, as his gaze fixed to the wall, his expression still hesitant and opposed to the entire idea— one that was clearly not his usual habit of acquiring women.

The healer couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he had even undergone the slow, tedious process of wooing a woman that didn't require overbearing flirtation with the sole intention of heading right for the bedroom; it was why he chose whores over regular women she suspected. He lived for quick thrills, though she knew he also had the patience to take his time when it required it. However, that was only used to facilitate when needed in his profession; tracking and learning his bounties to understand them in order to catch them off-guard. It was what he preferred to use it for, not something he knew he could just acquire easily at the House of Dusk.

The healer tapped a finger against her thigh.

Perhaps, she needed to put it into another perspective to get him more comfortable with the idea... one easy for him to grasp.

"Treat it as you would a bounty," Mera suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

Black turned back to her, lifting a curt yet curious eyebrow, and waiting for her to continue.

"Hunt slow. Learn your target, know her _patterns_ and then adjust accordingly to get the desired result."

The bounty hunter smirked salaciously. "Then _bag_ her once it's all said and done?" he snarked back, wiggling his eyebrows.

"By the Gods…" Mera sighed in exasperation at him, rolling her eyes, before she stared pointedly at him. "Yes, Erron if she lets you. Do not be too incessant about the subject with her— you do not need to. She will come to you when she is ready."

"Sure, she will," he doubted flippantly.

"Trust me…" Mera assured, giving a friendly wink. "She already wants to, and will, only after you give her respect."

"How do you know?" he inquired; still unconfident to her claim.

Mera snorted lightly at him. "Because I doubt Norah would have let you put her fingers in your mouth without slapping you for the pervert that you are if she truly didn't want to."

His mouth quirked to the side, smug mirth flashing across his features before they tapered into a more pensive visage, contemplating, and taking her words seriously finally. Yet, she could still tell he was not yet fully keen on the idea of being more patient than usual for the resigned baker to initiate it. Mera could tell it didn't sit well with him that he'd have to wait on Norah to initiate anything intimate.

She understood why: it was a behavioral change; he was used to pursuing it and not reciprocating. However, he knew she was right about Norah, and while he seemed to accept it, still peeved him a bit. He coveted control— always— only comfortable with being the one to dictate the destiny of his own decisions no matter what it was. He didn't like to leave it in anyone else's hands but his own.

But, begrudgingly for him, he knew he had no choice if it was what he genuinely wanted. Norah wasn't going to be won over any other way. Mera could tell he knew that as well before it even came up in conversation; the gunslinger probably thought about it in his spare time, but needed it voiced by another person before settling on the opinion. Still, she could tell he wasn't happy about altering his habits to do so. But she knew it would be worth it for him in the end, even if he didn't know it and wanted to refute it.

Mera couldn't help the corners of her mouth lifting lightly at him…

The gunslinger was as stubborn as the baker; something they already had in common, and who knows, possibly more left still undiscovered.

The healer patted him on the outside of his bicep, feeling convinced he had the idea in his head. "Now that you are _fixed,_ you can go attend to the Kahn's duties— with light work so you don't tear your stitches," Mera instructed with a firm nod, her eyes instantly back on the food on her desk… just waiting for her and going _devastatingly_ wasted and cold with each passing second…

But there was still an irritating obstacle in the way…

Her stomach growled at the same time when said obstacle's arm tightened around her waist again, Erron's fingers tracing over her waist once more as a smile grew on his face… a smile she could identify easily…

Her brows bridged hard while his eyes glinted in ardent amusement at her.

"I am eating my food."

The woman tried to nudge by him, but his arm was a steel barricade. The gunslinger pushed and directed her into the edge of her examination table, his body moving to stand in front of her to pin her against it as he caged her with his arms on either side of her.

She huffed loudly in annoyance, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as one of his hands roamed up her back. Her back curved in, her chest arching up against his bruised, bared torso as he trailed his palm flatly up the line of her spine. Erron's fingers opened and curled out like spider-legs, caressing the space between her shoulder blades, before his fingers hooked under the cord of her apron that hung around her neck and flipped it over her head.

"Leave me alone, you sex-obsessed buffoon. I'm starving," she reiterated, her words an ire, yet comical seethe at him… though, she wished they came out firmer than what she had managed to utter.

"Me too, darlin'… " he voiced, his tone low as he dragged his hand over the top of her shoulder, grazing his fingertips over her collarbone, before browsing them down over the buttons between her breasts. They didn't stop until they finally found the bow keeping her apron secured to her.

"Famished to the bone…" he whispered.

The bounty hunter tugged the knot apart, wasting no time, and watched with satisfaction as her apron dropped to the ground between them…his fingers progressing further south to the buttons at the hem of her shirt…

"Go. _Away._ Erron," she demanded, though her hands didn't move to stop him as he started to unhook the brass buttons slowly from their slots on the placket one by one aptly with a single hand; exposing more skin as he continued upwards to the next one. "You are _not_ keeping me from my food a minute longer…"

"Oh… I plan on keeping you away longer than a _minute_ … " he professed, his eyes turning darker as he watched her annoyed expression begin to lightly falter with each button he undid.

"I. Am. _Hungry…_ " the healer complained despite her chest lifting towards his hand on its own accord as his fingers tugged on the button situated between her breasts.

He smirked lightly, the acute mercenary aware she liked it despite her protests. He finished the last of the buttons and gently pushed open the panels of her uniform shirt with his fingers to reveal a sliver of her skin.

"You ain't gonna faint of it…" his hand skated up her stomach and over her sternum. Mera bit her bottom lip as his calloused fingertips scratched pleasantly along on her soft skin. "Your grub is cold anyway…"

She inhaled sharply through her nose as his hand veered to the right and groped her breast under her shirt; opening and closing his fingers around it as his rough palm soothed over her sensitive nipple.

Her hands gripped the edge of the examination table harder as he moved in closer, wiggling his thigh between her legs and shifting them apart; the skirt blocking him but he still could apply enough pressure into her cunt to make her shudder. The action also pushed her into the wood's edge more from behind, leaving her with no room to get away from him, trapping her between him and the table.

She exhaled out a shallow breath, his hand still massaging her breast, before she let out a sigh that bordered on irritated and aroused when she felt him getting hard against the top of her thigh. 

"You are not going to let me eat… are you?"

He chuckled, dark and with gratification, as his hand moved across her chest to flick open her shirt more to expose the other breast and give it attention. "I'll make it worth your time. I know a stall in the marketplace that serves something more fillin' than what you got on that plate… and better than sandwiches."

Mera blinked rapidly, licking her bottom lip, as his fingers prodded tenderly at her soft flesh before he pinched and rolled her nipple between his deft fingers, making her wet between her thighs when he did.

"Well… you have never taken me on an outing before" — she bemused, biting back a moan that she caught in time before it slipped out — "What in all the realms has you in such a good mood today?"

"Practicing' your dating idea, I suppose," he mused as he watched his thumb roll languidly around the outside of her nipple till it peaked; his hips beginning to move minutely in rhythm against her. "Also… Kitana finally agreed to give me my pay raise— as much as it pissed her off to do so. I'm good at my job and she knows it."

"Ah… That explains your annoying persistence… you want to _commemorate_ your new gains to your coin purse… you arrogant louse… " she accepted, her throat going dry as she pressed herself down on his thigh, trying to relieve pressure and clear the amorous fog that began to creep in on her so she could argue with him more coherently. She'd still rather had food than sex, despite both desires were nearly evenly balanced on the scale; both of them fighting and eating at each other for her final decision.

But it back-fired horribly and she heard her voice pitch up into a whine when he rocked his leg up at the same time she came down, putting even more enticing friction between her legs.

A pretentious grin spread on his face, his eyes gloating mischievously and knowingly at her. A small gasp slipped out as Black moved his thigh bluntly up against her cunt again— hard— and just enough to lift her up on to her toes; his way of teasing her for her failed attempt to regain her self-composure against his advances.

"Can't think of no better way to celebrate the occasion. You _sure_ you still want your cold food?" he taunted as he grabbed the fabric of her skirt and hiked it up at the same time he leaned into her neck; his breath against her skin like scolding steam. "Or… can I appetize you in the meantime with somethin' _warmer_ , babydoll?"

Her lips parted, a quiet whimper tumbling out, when his lips connected against the side of her throat. His mouth and tongue, gloriously hot, wet and oh _so_ good, stroked and kissed at her skin with skilled precision, while he pressed his leg harder into the apex of her thighs… and she felt herself beginning to ache with yearning to take him up on his offer the more he rocked his leg and hips tight against her.

She frowned at him, whimpering in frustration, as arousal completely swept in and stifled her stomach's needs for food as her body craved another more fervent hunger.

Damn him… damn him and all of his ancestors… she hoped they were all burning and suffering in the Netherrealm for their contribution in creating such an egotistical and _persuasive_ bastard.

"I… I am _not_ re-doing your stitches…" she avouched in a final breathy and very weak attempt of protest.

His hand finished lifting up her skirt and she let out an ardent sigh at the combination of her naked thigh hitting the already heated air and Black manipulating the patch of skin where her leg ended and hip bone met. She moaned wantonly as he pressed his leg into her, the thin slip of undergarments she wore soaked through as his thigh continued to grind more easily against her now that the fabric of her skirt didn't provide a barrier.

"Who said you'd need to?" he replied into her skin as his hand traveled upwards from her skirt, giving her breast a quick but firm squeeze on the way up before it came to a stop along the side of her neck; his thumb stroking her jawline while his tongue and teeth kept nipping and licking marks on the opposite side.

She lifted her exposed leg, hitching it around his waist, as her hand lifted to land at the back of his hair, his hat getting knocked off in the process; where it landed they didn't care to pay attention to.

Mera raked her nails along his scalp, his hair tickling her palm and earning an appreciative groan from him at the same time she felt his cock throb through his pants against her still clothed other thigh.

"... They'll open… you're never…" she closed her eyes, simpering and shivering as he ran his tongue slowly along her pulse line before taking her earlobe sharply between his teeth… " _Soft…_ "

"I can be, sugar…" he husked, his voice dulceting in her ear. His hand pushed gently on her cheek, simply as a command to turn her lips towards his as he peppered kisses up along her jaw. "But where's the fun in that?"

Mera moaned into his mouth as soon as their lips connected, his tongue then choosing to skip preliminaries and entered her mouth to coax with her's. Arduous heat spilled and crashed hard into her stomach, filling it to the brim and enticing a new appetite that smothered the other completely as he swirled his tongue against her's while she obediently gave him all he wanted from their kiss. They participated together with intervals of biting lips and crashing teeth, winding down towards a deliberate and unhurried pace, before finally guiding each other into a rough celerity with their mouths and tongues.

Gods she hated how good he was with his mouth; his skill could convince her of anything he wished from her and Mera despised herself with how easily he could just after a few seconds with it — a fact he was fully aware of as well. She shouldn't complain too much, though; his attentiveness to her body's needs surely wasn't oblivious. It was as if the damn bastard could read her thoughts of what she wanted him to do before it even sprung to her mind.

His hand left her cheek, his other still holding her jaw, as it began to roam down the side of her torso, his fingers digging into her skin as he molded his palm into the curves of her waist before releasing to grab curtly under her raised thigh and tug it up, causing it to wrap her leg a little higher on him.

He maneuvered, Mera not even registering he had been doing so before she felt his erection through his pants press so bruisingly but excellently between her legs. She panted, his hand like a vice under her thigh, as both of them moved their hips more generously against each other while their kisses grew more heated and feral; Mera unable to even register where her own hands where at times as she caressed his face and hair headily.

She let out another moan into his mouth, his nails digging into the underside of her thigh, before Erron pinched her bottom lip with enough sharpness to draw blood. She cried out in pain, merely surprised more than hurt, before muttering an audible 'ow' against this lip at the bite that he delivered; her bottom lip tasting too much like copper.

His hand came up to her jaw with alarming quickness, holding it firmly between his fingers as he pulled away from her mouth. Black's eyes darkened, his blown-out pupils looking at her eyes and then down to her swollen and bloody lip. He swiped his thumb gently just under the skin of her bottom lip, causing her to part her lips more as her chest rocked up and down with every heavy breath; her body growing hotter just being under his targeted and heavy stare.

A purposeful silent moment hung in the air, as if he was offering a half-genuine quiet apology, before his tongue came out and licked the red slivered mark.

Her breath hitched so quickly she felt dull pain hit her in the lungs as his tongue ran slowly south to north against her afflicted lip before pulling his tongue, the point of it painted red, back into his mouth.

She fluttered out a breath, her body noticeably trembling as heat dipped and spread along her stomach and then further down into her loins…

His thumb swiped along her lip, and she bit down on it, nail and pad softly between her teeth, as they exchanged blazing stares with each other that caused warmth to flood lower until she was sure it soaked the fabric of his pants as he pulled his finger from her mouth.

It was such a strange, unexpected action to her—him licking the blood from her lip— and she didn't know why, but it instantly made her pussy ache desperately with need as soon as his tongue had touched her… and she accepted his apology by gripping the back of his head with both hands and crashing her lips hard against his.

Her leg wrapped tighter around his hips, her hands leaving his hair while she trailed both down his naked chest, scratching her nails sharply against his skin. Black shuddered, a groan falling from his mouth against her's, as she felt her toes press into the floor, causing her calf to raise— her other leg wanting to join its twin around his waist.

Without effort, understanding what she wanted, he lifted her onto the table, hauling her up by grappling his hands under both of her legs.

Her legs opened as soon as she sat on the table, his other hand already grabbing and hauling up the other side of the skirt, as she wrapped her bare legs around him and hooked her ankles around the back of his thighs.

Her hands left his chest to grab his ass and pulled his hips harder into her, earning a growl from him as she dug her nails into both cheeks of his ass through the fabric of his pants. Mera alternated flexing her fingers, clawing and pulling his hips against her's more, before she caressed one of her hands around, running her hand along the line of his belt, before stopping her palm at his zipper.

She rubbed his bulge, a deep moan echoing against her lips from him, while the fingers of her other hand came up and ran down his chest once more. Black took a half step back, his mouth pulling away regrettably, but allowing her more access to rub her hand along his clothed shaft. His head leaned back, eyes closing, as a deep moan escaped him while she stroked him through his jeans.

His hand came up, raveling her hair in his palm at the back of her head for just something to hold on to. Erron tugged hard on her scalp at the same time she snaked her hand inside his pants, earning a whimper from her to intermingle with his husky groan when she wrapped her hand around his cock.

She bit her lip, blood from his hard nip coating her bottom lip once again as he twisted her hair in his fist; the pain harsh but welcomed at the back of her scalp in just the right way, and she rewarded him by riding her hand firmer and faster along his shaft.

The healer continued, alternating cadence on him before her eyes landed on the plate of food again. The woman came to a slow, the action causing Erron to blink and look at her with confusion…

But then she flashed him a carnal grin as she removed her hands and placed both on his shoulders… pushing down on them.

"You can make up for keeping me hungry…" she purred out as he mirrored her smirk, Mera continuing to guide him to get on his knees in front of her. "By showing me how truly _famished_ you are."

As soon as his kneecaps hovered over the floor, Mera swung her leg on to his uninjured shoulder and pushed him down the rest of the way. She smiled impishly at him and pulled her calf into his back—yanking him more towards her with it, his mouth nearly meeting her dripping cunt from the abrupt weight and shift of movement she forced on him.

Black hissed out in pain as her foot inadvertently dug into one of the many bruises, she assumed she hit doing so. For a moment, she thought she ruined the mood and regretted her impromptu sexual antics for a second, before she noticed the look on his face between her thighs.

Instead of appearing annoyed she had done so, she swore he got even more aroused by her hurting him; evident only by the dark, zealous visage that appeared. The healer couldn't say it surprised her considering him…

"Masochist?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she pressed her heel into his back— hard.

Black grunted as soon as she touched the same bruise and his hand reached up, his black, viperous eyes never leaving hers as he rubbed his thumb up and down over her slit, his fingers blocked by her still covered cunt. Her eyes closed as soon as he made contact, her body jerking towards his hand, before she let out a whimper.

"Nah… not the full definition, sugar…" he answered. His eyes squinted at her, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth up— as if he got a sudden, precarious idea. His other arm hooked under and slung her other leg over his shoulder— and she immediately stiffened anxiously when she felt the gauze covering his stitches against her calf.

"Pain just mixes nice into fucking when it's all done right…" he teased out, his fingers pulling her underwear away to the side uncover her; the heated air and equally hot breath hitting her pussy making electricity race up her spine.

She shook her head, trying to ignore how wickedly sinful and nice it all felt. "No… Erron— they'll open up—"

She let out a strangled sob, his face moving inwards and clamping his mouth over her sopping sex before she could even finish mumbling out her disapproval. Her fingers curled against the side of the table, nails digging into the wood as he crawled his tongue slow and so deliciously good along her folds.

Mera leaned back, calling out a moan into the ceiling, as her legs opened more; still slung over his shoulders as far as she could rest them on him without slipping off. He circled his tongue slowly around her clit before attaching his mouth to it and sucking loud and shamelessly. She let out a choked sob, his tongue causing her leg to yank up and accidentally swipe too rough along his wound, detaching the gauze from his skin; Mera too distracted to even notice as he continued at sucking and licking at her clit with blissful and obscene dexterity.

The healer's thighs tightened on him, pressing down and into his back, as her legs began to tremble on his shoulders. She only realized what she was doing after she felt and heard him give out a pained groan against her when her calf shifted up again; only them remembering about the stitches against her naked leg. Feeling the coarse, thin strings against her skin snapped her to attention, making her lucid enough to catch herself. She recoiled in guilt at how much her leg was pressed against his wound and how she speculated what she had done had possibly ruined a suture.

"No— No Erron— wait—" she shook her head, her words filtered out of her lips along with an airy gasp. She swallowed, trying to gain control, despite his tongue still lapping away at her. Still, the healer was able to gain enough coherency to begin to swing her leg off his injured side. "This— _Gods_ — th-this isn't a good idea—"

His arm came up, hooking under her knee, before lifting and pushing her leg bluntly back where it was on his shoulder— the unexpected action causing her to knock her heel hard into a bruise and her calf slam hard into his stitches… and she felt him growl in pain and satisfaction against her cunt when it did.

Despite feeling his moan tremor delectably against her, she still was a physician first who took pride in taking care of her clients' wounds and best interests. "Erron… please— it's not… it's not smart. I don't want your—"

The gunslinger's hands came up swiftly, his fingers curling around the outside of her thighs like talons of a hawk in a prey animal, before his mouth left to look up at her. The words died in her mouth, turned on by the honest primal carnality of his gaze, as she watched his eyes slant in fervent impatience at her and he growled out his warning through his teeth.

"Then _don't_ open them…" he snarled out, the indication of what he meant more clear as he pushed his nails harder into the skin of her thighs…and her body quivered; melting and collecting more desire low into her stomach as heat spiked through her body.

Black smirked darkly at her, his eyes glancing at her cunt before one of his hands reached under her dress and grabbed the beige colored underwear she wore; his fingers twisting in the fabric and pulling her covering away until the side-straps dug taut into her hips.

"If you can manage, darlin'…"

Mera let out a surprised yelp as her eyes bugged wide; the clothing biting into her skin sharply but momentarily, as the sudden action nearly yanked her completely off the table when he ripped her underwear from her. Her legs pressed into his back hard when he did, using his body as an anchor for balance, and she knew at another one of his stitches probably popped out when she did.

His face leaned back in, but not before tucking her underwear into his back pocket like it was some trophy, before delving his mouth into her pussy again with more lascivious enthusiasm than he had before. Her stomach coiled abrupt and tight with pleasure, ambushed by his shocking, _new_ prowess, that was so unexpected it felt like she had been jabbed in the gut. By the Gods… he had been holding back how _good_ he actually was until now…

She panted, her chest arching up and swaying down with exertion as her hands white-knuckled the table's edge; her lungs working harder than usual to collect breath as he worked her to a release with his tongue.

In between one of her heavy breaths, the healer sighed in defeat as she fought between several thoughts and emotions: how much she despised him… bewilderment on how he even managed to rip her underwear so effectively from her (they weren't that flimsy)… and how much him doing it set her body on fucking fire when he had.

"Gods I hate you…" she breathed out, her words a mixture of all three conflicting reflections. He said nothing but she felt him smile mirthfully as he pulled away to peck his lips along one of her inner thighs before his mouth attached to her indecently soaked cunt once again.

Her heels pressed into his back… and felt sticky slickness—blood she realized— on her calf. She tried to pull her leg up and away slowly… hoping he wouldn't notice…

His hand came back down harshly, clinching his fingers on her like iron shackles, as both of them let out a moan— her's solely of pleasure and his a mixture of pain and the former.

She finally relented— he wasn't going to release her until she came, but it was a nearly impossible assignment he gave to the physician that enjoyed perfection in her work. How could she keep her legs from writhing on him, damaging him more, as she sought her chase? The answer: she couldn't. Either option was torture for her.

She still tried; forcing her legs immobile as she could while he slipped his tongue inside her folds. Her eyes rolled into her head, her breaths coming out in wanton gasps as she tried to stop her shaking thighs from prying open any more sutures. But the combination of his scolding breath, skilled tongue and trying to fight for composure, had her careening towards the brink of insanity— and her end quicker than anticipated.

And to make matters worse, an unexpected element joined in…

She heard footsteps on the other side of the door, two male healers she didn't recognize the voices of, walked down the hallway and just happened to stop by her door; both of them disagreeing about the proper usage of a remedy called Liquid Souls. The door was locked, they couldn't barge in, and weren't interested it seemed anyway… but that wasn't what she was afraid of…

Their mild argument could be heard on the other side… and in turn, so could any sounds Erron could pry from her.

His eyes looked up at her from between her legs, his mouth still pleasuring her cleverly. The erotic sight of him tucked so tight against her cunt would have spread even more heat along her already sweltering body and core…

She curled her lip at him in warning…

… If he didn't have that fucking _smug_ look in his eyes…

Erron took his mouth from her, the hand holding the leg on his uninjured shoulder leaving to bury one of his thick fingers inside her before his tongue joined back in by fluttering it against her clit; purposely amping up the pleasure expeditiously.

She let out a sharp, wanton and somewhat embarrassing loud cry—

Her hand immediately came up, covering over her mouth to silence the onslaught of whimpers and moans that came from her as he worked his finger, pumping in correlation with his tongue flicking and licking on her with a languid rhythm that progressively increased in tempo.

Mera writhed in agonizing silence, her hand clasped so tight over her mouth her fingers both puckered up and indented the skin of her cheeks.

There was too much to keep fucking track of.

Her desire-clouded attention splintered apart into divides and left her frustratingly uncertain of what deserved her consideration more: the men talking, keeping quiet, balancing on the table, making sure she didn't open his stitches… and last but not least, the fucking, pompous idiot that was making her come undone with his nimble mouth, tongue and fingers.

Her body trembled and with a hand still bruising over her mouth, the men's voices somewhat distorted in the background, she glared down at him. His eyes, glassy with desire, flicked up at her before she felt him chuckle evil and boastfully against her; the baritone vibrations making her squirm with pleasure on the table.

Erron entered a second finger inside her and then curled them both— stretching them against something so devastatingly amazing that it skyrocketed ecstasy up her. Her legs jerked hard into him and he groaned, his fingers straightening to pump them in and out of her, while his tongue returned to the same relentless and debilitating lilt he had before on her clit.

Fire began to kindle, growing ever so hotter; Black fanning the flames bigger with each measured and sinful motion he delivered. The healer's body began to flounder; too many needs pulled her into too many unnecessary directions when she really only wanted to travel down one path and see its end.

Black twisted his fingers inside her, pumping them faster, and the vulgar squelching she heard traveling to her ears that was so obscene yet oh, so fucking euphoric that it snapped her fortitude in half as easily as a twig.

Mera gave up. There was no way she was going to be able to accommodate every distraction around her— something would have to be compromised in order to facilitate her own needs. She needed to clear the table and get rid of anything unwanted. So, she began with the easiest distraction she could get rid of first as her eyes drifted to the door…

The men's voices on the other side began to shout at each other, adamantly disagreeing and too ill-tempered to be logical about one of their client's sickness— one that was so common that they didn't think it could merely be that; that it had to be something else so preposterously rare to call for something as potent as Liquid Souls.

Her hand dropped from her mouth, her palm smacking against the wood of the table so sharply with irritation that it hurt her, as her lips twisted into a vicious and frustrated snarl. "BY. THE. _GODS!_ "

One of her hands grabbed Erron's hair roughly— yanking him so hard and brutally away from her that it earned a surprise yelp from the man, and instantly gridlocked his actions on her when she did. But the healer ignored him, twisting her hand so uncaringly and painfully in his hair that it made him wince… and then made him give out a contented shudder; the fingers still buried inside her moving languidly once again.

Even then, he didn't exist at the moment—her irate narrowed eyes only fixated on the morons she couldn't see on the other side of the door.

"It's used _ONLY_ for life-threatening afflictions!" she shouted at them with impatient indignation. "Certainly not for someone who is obviously showing symptoms of Sugar Disease!"

Quietness enveloped both spaces— both inside and outside the room— despite she could hear the way her lungs pushed out air with such heavy pants somebody would have thought she was suffocating.

The men paused, their argument at an end, before she heard one of them awkwardly mutter: "... thank you…"

Their footsteps gradually retreated and she slowly turned her gaze back to the gunslinger she still had by the hair. She panted down at him, Black moving his fingers back and forth up to the tempo he had before as he raised an eyebrow, the tone mockingly inquisitive at her. "Is _that_ what it's for, now?"

The corners of his mouth pulled up into a teasing grin, his stubble shining with a glossy, transparent hue. She seethed, baring her teeth at him like a feral cat as she felt sweat rolling down her neck and chest; electricity sparking and razing her body at the sight of his mouth covered and shining lewdly in her slick.

"Shut up…" she growled, her hand tightening more into his hair. "Just— _shut up_ , Erron."

Mera pushed on the back of his head— and moaned loudly once his mouth returned back to her waiting cunt.

Everything else fell apart once he picked up where he left off from her, the only change being her hand crushing his hair between her fingers.

She cajoled him sinfully between whimpers and whining with need every time his velvet tongue stroked her just the right way—the way she would kill someone for just to experience it. It didn't take him long to carry her back to her avenue of briefly abandoned ecstasy, and she writhed on her perch on the table, arching her hips to get even more of her into his mouth.

Her legs dug into his back—not even fucking caring anymore of what bruise or wound they hit. Gods damn it— if he wanted to undergo getting sutures again then fucking fine with her.

She stiffened, a strangled gasp echoing around the room, the muscles in her stomach twisting painfully tight while he picked up the pace and kept it at a constant quick rhythm; his tongue and fingers mirroring both speeds that had her sprinting towards her orgasm.

Mera's hand grappled rougher in his hair, her voice heightened in pitch and her eyes shut as she urged him to keep the same cadence— begging him not to stop…

And he didn't stop— not even after her world dissolved, turning to warm liquid under her and she was drowned in it. Her hips bucked into him, crying out in broken caterwauls, as she came into his mouth and her legs tightened crushingly around him. She wasn't sure if the rough growl he gave was from pain— perhaps too much of it finally — or from delight of how sweetly she tasted to him. Regardless, he stayed attentively on her after her climax; mopping up with his tongue what she gave him with his own pleasure from it— and it made her shiver with desire watching him do it.

Her breaths leveled out, the woman running a hand down her chest, fondling her breast, before resting her palm on her thigh. She blinked, her vision hazy around the room; her eyes tracing over the bottles on the shelf and to delirious with pleasure that she couldn't even read a single label with proficiency.

But eventually, her vision did return, her hand releasing from his hair once she began to sober up.

The gunslinger slowly worked his way up, starting simply with kissing the inside of her thighs and allowing her to collect her bearings first from her erotic high. Eventually, he did rise back to his feet, finally letting her legs drop off him, as he traced his lips up her torso. She sighed breathlessly when his mouth attached to a breast to give a quick suck, before standing upright fully to lock his mouth on hers again.

She moaned, tasting the sinful tang that coated his lips from her slick and relishing it, as her hands came on both sides of his face to hold him…

Erron pressed his hips into her curtly, his erection causing her to gasp out in surprise— the gunslinger reminding her of _his_ own needs he wanted her to attend to…

Oh… that's right.

 _His_ turn.

As if he knew what she was thinking, or perhaps just impatient, his hand grasped the nape of her neck, and encouraged her to come off the table; taking his turn to slowly guide her to her knees. Erron pushed her down the rest of the way bluntly, her kneecaps hitting the floor roughly and copying what she did to him before; his smirk confirming that had been his intention.

Mera said nothing and took her time; her hands unclasping his belt and pulling it off to the side with slow and teasing purpose.

She nearly had his cock out of his pants, both of them staring lustfully at each other without uninterrupted contact, before an odd, garbled sound echoed around her.

They both paused, Mera's hands still at his zipper— just about to lower it— before both of their brows furrowed in confusion and looked down; wondering where the noise was coming from.

It came again, her stomach gnawing at itself the same time the sound issued, and they finally understood it was her complaining stomach.

"Hurry up and I'll let you eat…" he proposed salaciously. Lifting his eyebrows at her.

She blew a flippant raspberry at his crude hint. "I'm not my sister, Erron. I don't eat"— her eyes glanced at his pants before back to him—" _That."_

Erron laughed, shaking his head a bit. "I remember you tellin' me you don't. It's not what I meant actually," he corrected, nodding towards the plate of food on the table.

She laughed in turn, her cheeks growing a bit red for her misunderstanding, before her eyes landed on the plate of food as well.

Her eyes found the biscuit again and it caused her to think back to their earlier discussion about Norah. A realization hit her, causing her to pause. She had forgotten to tell him something important that he would have to do if he truly wanted to pursue Norah— one thing that also synced with her new training opportunity.

Her eyes looked to him, her hands finally undoing the zipper, as she addressed him. "We cannot keep doing this. Not while you are _dating_ Norah."

Mera reached into his pants, grasping and pulling out his cock into the air as a groan rumbled out from his chest and his hips jerked into her enclosed palm.

His hand came on the top of her head and she continued to run her hand along his shaft. Still, she continued informing him, her tone placid as if she was just discussing the weather with him.

"It wouldn't be fair to her, Erron."

The bounty hunter sighed through his nose, the healer thinking at first it was because she had his hands on his cock, but then nodded quickly at her; albeit breathing heavily as he twitched in her palm.

"I'm — _ughh_ — I'm aware… " he rasped. "I know how it works… I ain't a fuckin' idiot. "

Mera gave him a quick, friendly smile, refraining from offering her playful opinion that disagreed with his last statement.

"Don't worry, Erron," she comforted, licking the head of his cock and earning a shudder from him. "If I am wrong, and she completely rejects you, you can always get back on your knees again and beg me to _come_ to you."

He scoffed.

"I don't do the beggin— oh fuck"— his hand tightened in her hair when she took his cock into her mouth and started to suck on him…

* * *

It was two hours later until she finally got her food (Carver's sandwich was still better) but not before Mera did end up having to redo his stitches before they left— all of them—after their second round of lovemaking…

And their last one for quite some time, or Mera hoped, depending on Norah, indefinitely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna keep going with the smut, but 18,000 + words is enough for one day. If you managed to survive through all that text, I will send any leftover pie to your doorstep in exchange for comments and kudos (◕‿◕✿) Regardless, thanks for stopping by, and hoped you enjoyed.


	6. Let's Make a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stuffing my face with chocolate* Happy Valentines Day-- here's my attempt at trying to make the cowboy romantic... *dumping candy hearts into my mouth and crying like Eddie Murphy in the Nutty Professor*

** Mirror Match  
** **Chapter 6  
** ** _Let’s Make a Date_**

* * *

Despite that Erron agreed to Mera’s idea, he still thought it was ludicrous. 

It was. 

_Completely._

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had put himself through the trouble of pursuing a woman akin to Norah’s irritating calibur of stubbornness. Mera had taken _some_ persuading, but it had been fun. The healer was more humorous, easier to talk to, and found his banter childish but amusing, which in turn, entertained him.

Black rubbed his temple with the pad of his index and middle fingers as he sat in his chair in his room. His boots remained propped up on the desk, one ankle over the other, as he pushed into his skin with an absent circling of his fingers. Unfortunately, it wasn’t relieving his persistent headache. One that was spurred on by mulling on about the same thought for the past hour and how to execute it. The gunslinger could give the headache a name too, and it began with an ‘N’.

Erron Black didn’t _date_ , and yet here he was, considering the idea with someone that would shoot him down quicker than a scalded cat.

He knew he couldn’t simply go about asking Norah for a _date_ so plainly, regardless of how easy Mera had suggested he could. With the baker, he had to take as much care as if he was walking barefooted over a floor covered in rusty nails. She wasn’t afraid to knick him for any playful flirtatious comment and regarded everything with prudence when about him. If he was blunt about it, if he didn’t use the right inflection, or use the right words in the correct order, she would refuse him without so much as batting an eye. It wasn’t something he was used to. Usually, he had no trouble getting women. 

Black let out an irritable sigh through his nose, his fingers ceasing and pressing into his temple more bruisingly, as he stared at the blank stone wall of his room with stern annoyance. 

_This is all goddamn stupid._

Why was he even bothering? She was such a stuck-up little tart of a woman that seemed to flaunt her chastity like a badge of honor at him. So _why_ did _he_ care, aside from wanting to get the idea of fucking her out of his head? 

As it were, though, he couldn’t. No matter how much he tried to banish the thought, it clung to him like a tick. He _did_ want her, unfortunately, and had for a while.

The thought had been an absent-minded little notion that had been seeded in the back of his mind for a year. Months ago, there had been a serious heatwave for a week, sweltering Outworld and making its citizens sweat buckets as it lingered over the capital city like a volcanic cloud.

Norah, who always stood behind him at dinner when the Kahn requested dinner/meetings take place around the Empress’ table, was just another one in the room that had suffered along with the others. Besides Reptile, who seemed to enjoy the intense hot spell, they were all dripping with perspiration in their seats. 

The hired gun, who should have been paying attention to the discussion, wasn’t. It had been hard to concentrate. Not only with him sitting uncomfortably in his chair, the sun cooking them all in the palace like an incubator, but Norah had made it hard to keep his thoughts fixed on the conversation. It was mundane from what little he recalled about it, something about trade routes and such, which was good since his attention had been fixed on his cupbearer whenever Ferra or Erron requested water to help fight away the heat in the room. 

Even though she was a native-born Outworlder, he had noticed she was just as unhappy as the other indigenous members of Kitana’s council around the room. It was a rare form of temporary torridity, more intense than a usual day in the Outworld desert. Even Jade and Kitana, who always appeared immaculate no matter the weather, didn’t seem readily able to acclimate to it once it rolled in; the Empress herself using her war fans to cool herself off with. Norah, like him, put on a good face, despite sweat dripping from every surface of them… and that had been the problem. 

Every tiny bead of sweat that had careened along her chest, caught his eye whenever she came by his side to give him more water. It was funny, he had seen her in that purple, revealing uniform for years now, but hadn’t paid closer attention to how it had fit her until he had something different to latch his eyes to. Thanks to the heat, it clung to her more than usual, sticking to her skin as if the woman had just dumped the water pitcher she held over her head. She was as damp as they all were, but… he’d never seen her that way…

Black tried and failed to ignore the sudden pressing ache he felt low in his loins snake and coil on him the second the memory flashed through him… 

It was hard not to watch the small paths of sweat that rolled down over her. They began from different routes: from the back of her neck, falling from the point of her chin, or simply forming at the side of her temple, but they most always ended up in the same destination. 

He was certain she caught him staring at her, he didn’t exactly make it subtle, but he couldn’t help but watch every translucent pearl fall along her flushed skin; the same ones moving languidly along her chest, slithering between her breasts and then melting into the apex of her V-neck purple blouse that covered her.

It also didn’t help that she made an unintentional tease about it by wiping a hand on herself. Whether it was curling her fingers at the back of her neck, smoothing away the hair sticking to her face, or placing a palm above her bosom to collect any wetness that gathered there. When she went back to her spot against the wall, he knew she was fanning herself behind him. And he pictured her doing so— soaked and panting; trying to collect oxygen in the dense, heated air like they all were. Yet, he found himself enjoying the moment… 

He gave an exasperated sigh in his seat.

 _Regrettably_ so, he had enjoyed it…

He had never seen her so unkempt... so _disheveled,_ and it was all in the best possible way. Flawed yet _flawless_ , without even trying to be so. It was a different look; one he was not accustomed to seeing on her. She was always so prim appearance-wise, but that day she was anything but... and begrudgingly it was _attractive_ to him. 

Erron pressed his thighs tighter together, trying to stifle his growing prurience picturing her that day with the same amount of success he was having trying to forget about the next thought that grew from that encounter… and what had set him on Norah in the first place...

The gunslinger often sought for the same type of unpolished state with any woman he took to bed: writhing, moaning, body hot and sweltering beneath him as he worked them both to a conclusion... and he made the big mistake of wondering if she’d look the same under him... 

The marksman shifted in his seat, pressing his fingers into the side of his temple more— sparking pain to his already pounding head to distract himself. 

It had been such a brisk thought; something that was supposed to be forgotten as soon as it had been conjured up. It never did go away. Not since the first second of picturing her that way…and then on his bed…outside… or on the table— or wherever the fuck she wanted him to take her. As long as he could have her… 

At first, it was nothing to him, simply an inconsequential fantasy he played sometimes for a brief reprieve to cut through spouts of boredom during the Kahn’s meetings since she was behind him. 

Though, as the year progressed, he noticed an accumulation of more sundry carnal reveries start to creep into his everyday irrelevant brainstorming sessions... 

He shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair…

...and the reactions his body got against his wishes from picturing Norah in all of them...

His favorite was having her between his legs under the Kahn’s dinner table without the others knowing she was there while they talked. The thought always managed to rile him up just picturing the obscene thrill of it; the high risk of getting caught, while having someone so proper doing something so improper and semi-public to him was too titillating. 

And that was the other thing pulling him towards her: Norah’s withholding. Her obvious abstinence. It was tempting not to think about how he’d crow at being the one to make her buckle in. To corrupt someone so adamant about being _un-corrupted_ , was such a baiting idea to him. He never shied away from challenges, especially with trying to bed ornery women and, no disrespect to the healer, Mera was kid’s play in comparison to Norah. There had always been a clear, linear road with the female physician; he saw the gold at the end from miles away and it had egged him to keep on his course.

With Norah however, he may as well be blindfold and drunk while steering a cranky horse to a destination he had no map to. There was no guarantee of success, or good launching point to start with when it came to the headstrong baker. He hadn’t been lying to Mera when he had told her he had no idea what to do with her...

The gunslinger sighed, removing his fingers from the side of his head to pinch the bridge of his nose instead…

...Hence his headache. 

Mera did make it sound way too simple; she truly had no idea how annoyingly resolute Norah was— to him at least. 

The best plan he could come up with was to treat it the way that he had done to the only other girl that gave him such a hard time. Unfortunately, that meant recalling lost yesteryears in his memory where she had remained to him…

Erron had only known one other woman, or at least one that he could recall, that had been as hard to win over as Norah promised to be. 

Marybeth McCowan: The Daughter of the Abilene General Store. The strawberry blonde girl had humbled him since they were youngsters, and gave him, even more, hell when they got older together. They had been schoolmates, and she was the only reason Abraham suspected why Erron even went; otherwise, the rebellious youngster would have been elsewhere in Abilene. He sat behind her every day since he was eight, trying to coax conversation out of her, but she had always ignored him. He tried and tried for weeks on just one inquiry and it pissed him off; he was just trying to get her favorite color and be cordial, but she refused to even acknowledge his presence. 

So... he did what any heart-aching youngster did when their future sweetheart wasn’t giving him the time of day…

He caught a live frog, one that was still dripping with pond water moments before sitting down at his desk and put it down the back of her dress the moment class started.

Well… he got her attention, but it was the reprimand from the schoolmarm that he remembered the most. He had come home limping with a sore bottom and got a laugh out of Abraham and Bill Hickok at the sight.

Marybeth still hated him— more so after the frog— and got back at him all the same, but at least she knew he existed after that incident.

She threw rocks at him every time he got near, and her aim got significantly better over the years. After all, she had plenty of practice using him as her target. On top of it, her pranks were just as childishly nefarious as his: stealing his stuff and hiding it, putting honey or molasses on his seat so it glued to his pants. His least favorite, though, had been her turning in her seat to blow ground pepper she had in her hand right in his eyes. The younger boy always got back at her too, but, heeding Wild Bill’s advice, he kept his pranks light-hearted in comparison.

_‘Teeter over the line too precariously and you’ll find yourself regrettin’ it. Always be the gentleman, no matter how much she gets at ya.’_

He did, despite how much the boy was tempted to get the girl back just as hard. It wasn’t fun, and on top of her jokes, she called him more names than a dictionary had room for, but even still he poked fun at her that she liked him. It was all nothing but mudslinging, but fun nonetheless to watch her get mad. Kids stuff and nothing more… until it stopped being so— at least for him. 

Puberty hit and his words became more flirtatious— usually mimicking what Bill and Abraham said word for word to their prospective ladies, that unfortunately, ended up being somewhat inappropriate for a young kid to say to another. He pulled back on the words when Marybeth punched him in the eye once and he wore a black painted ring for a week because of it. Regardless, his thoughts and words, always heavy with admiration about her, eclipsed any animosity for her constant rejection towards him. He was stubborn, and she knew it well, and so was she.

It wasn’t until their teen years, he turned 16 if he remembered correctly, did she finally start to return his affections. It was about damn time; he put in almost 8 years of work and was beginning to feel as if he had wasted his youth on such a hot-headed girl. Though, she had made up for the lost years the more they spent time together… 

Black’s expression stretched into a fond, boyish grin as he reminisced about their escapades from once upon a time…. 

Boy… did they _ever_ make up for lost time… 

They raised all kinds of hell; turning their shenanigans on the town instead of each other. Erron would always take the blame for her whenever they did get caught, even though anybody that knew Marybeth knew she was as bad as he was— and both equally as hardheaded. They never did listen to any higher authority, warning them there would be just as much hell to pay if they didn’t keep the reins taut. They never did pay; there were always worse tourists in Abilene when thousands of tired and freshly rich cowboys filled in seasonally and made the town barely livable for regular folk. 

When they were behind closed doors, it was all harmless romance, despite him wanting more than she did, but it didn’t stop folks from seeing otherwise.

The gunslinger gave a brief chuckle, remembering Mrs. McCowan, a plump red-headed woman that reminded him of a fat red turkey in looks and demeanor, beating him with her shoe and chasing him out of the Livery where Erron and Marybeth had snuck away after Church service. They were both decent, only partaking in an innocent session of kissing but it didn't stop Marybeth’s mother from _‘beating the sin’_ from him with her shoe. He had welts on the back of his head for a week.

However, it was never meant to be it seemed, to the delight of Mrs. McCowan who arranged for Marybeth to go stay with her aunt in San Francisco shortly after that affair, and unfortunately, fate pulled them in different directions. The last time he had seen her was through a window years later when he just happened to be in San Francisco… and she was with her husband and newborn child.

Abilene had started to grow a dark cloud over him since Wild Bill and Marybeth’s departure had been the final nail in the coffin as far as he was concerned. He was happy for her…

The bounty hunter sighed.

 _...Really…_ he had been.

Marybeth had been the only good thing about the rowdy Cowtown and if there was any woman, he had thought of giving a ring to, it would have been her given the chance. However, Abilene and Marybeth were long dead; as well as everyone else he knew from those days, and yet the past kept resurfacing in one way or another. Whether it was truly his shadow from the past, manifested in his flesh and blood trying to undermine him… or something else more obscure, but enough to draw an undeniable comparison to. 

The ironic thing was Norah looked nothing like Marybeth: his old Kansas sweetheart was redheaded and had an Irish accent much like her Ma’ and Pa’ did. Norah was tanned, yet fair, with dark hair and green eyes that were like jagged, freshly unearthed emeralds; ones as sharp as her demeanor towards him… and that was the likeness between the past and present he kept gravitating to. 

Erron wasn’t sure which woman had been more stubborn and mean, and when he couldn’t figure out which one, he had no choice but to agree they were practically identical. Though they both weren't as regal and dangerous as the female assassins of Outworld he enjoyed in his immortal-esque adulthood, both of them were just as beautiful and tough.

They were no-nonsense, opinionated, and more so in Norah’s case, could be obnoxious and disliked to some. But they were unapologetic about it and it catered to him. They didn’t give a damn about whether they rubbed people the wrong way; they were who they were, and Black could respect it, cause in most ways, so was he.

Begrudgingly, it was the only goddamn thing he could tell he had in common with Norah. Regardless of who she inadvertently reminded him of, he didn’t know how to get her friendly to the idea of going steady with him. 

Mera had been right: he truly knew nothing about the baker. Though, Mera was wrong about one thing— he couldn’t just throw out the question. It would look clumsy as shit coming from him and he would have just as much success with it as it had with Marybeth. If he remembered correctly, he had to find out what the redhead liked from afar from observation— a suggestion by Abraham. 

_‘Just pay attention, son. She’ll tell you what she likes and wants, even if she doesn’t say it.’_

The gunslinger recalled all the wasted hours spent in the General Store, watching her like a hawk, until he gradually caught on to her likes and dislikes. The girl had been notorious for sneaking things out of the store and selling them to the other kids in the schoolhouse, and he was one of them, but there had been always one that she had kept to herself.

Black chuckled lightly, smacking his lips…

He could still taste the peppermint sticks the McCowan’s sold to this day— one of the girl’s favorite candies— and one he’d purchase often just to get her attention. It was the first thing they had in common and earned him a quick smile from the redhead.

Now, he had no more stomach for peppermint… 

The General Store had helped out quite a bit the more he recollected about it; especially by the time they had been going steady. Erron had already known her favorite color, food, hobbies, and animal were (red, green apples, pulling pranks, and robins) and had impressed her with it. Paying attention even earned him a kiss on the cheek for his effort; she thought it was sweet he cared so much.

The only problem now with following through with the same game was, Norah was no heir to a merchandise store, and he couldn’t watch her every waking minute… 

_‘Hunt slow. Learn your target_.’

He scoffed.

It was easy for the healer to say when she wasn’t the one on the hunt. Still, no matter how much of a headache the woman gave him, he’d never let a _bounty_ get the best of him. There was a way to get his target— the more difficult the better, he reminded himself; they always had the best prize attached. He just needed the right tools and a trail to follow…

He turned to his balcony, the cry of some large beast calling from outside the parapet of the palace, pulling his attention from the wall of his room.

Feeling his ass starting to grow numb from sitting in the chair for the past hour, he lowered his feet to the ground from his desk. He stood and walked towards the balcony, abandoning his table and rolling his shoulders.

With the doors open wide and allowing the mid-morning sun to pool into his room, his eyes followed one of the various roads of the marketplace. He braced his arms against the railing, leaning on them and the railing as his gaze drifted from stall to stall absently before he spotted the white and black fur speckled behemoth; something that was a cross between Torr and a yeti, being pulled onwards on a chain from the auction stall by its neck.

The marksman's eyes continued to scan the growing, busy marketplace; the small section of commercial utopia and social gathering in Z’unkaharah reaching the height of its daily activity. Even from where he sat, far from the bazaar, Erron spotted the tale-tell signs of someone that just got robbed. The man whipped around, patting his pocket frantically, before throwing up his hands in frustration; yet another victim of a pick-pocketer. The woman next to him, a young possibly would-be conquest, grew visibly disappointed at him; the indignant woman expecting flowers suddenly crossing her arms over her chest and wrinkling her red dress. 

The incident caused him to recall Norah’s encounter: when she got slugged in the shoulder and then taken to Mera afterward… 

A sudden thought sprung to mind, one born from the whole purpose of why he even walked with her that day in the marketplace.

Her cooking spice— they never did get it. It had been forgotten due to her sudden injury. 

Black chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes squinting in the sun as he searched over the marketplace for a vendor that sold anything used in a kitchen. If he did find one, it wouldn’t have done him much good anyway. Norah never did mention the name of it, so his intention to find it and give it to her as an excuse for him to see her and earn him points were discarded. 

He smiled lightly, another idea in its place quickly formulating as he watched the woman in the red dress (one who reminded him of Mera a little) abandon her previous male courter and roamed through the marketplace alone; every so often pausing when she found something that caught her eye...

_‘She’ll tell you what she likes, even if she doesn’t say it.’_

Although, the fact that he didn’t know what the spice was, didn’t mean he couldn’t still use it as a reason to see her...

He watched the woman in red reach into her coin purse, pointing at a tangerine-colored dress she liked…

_‘You will owe me a dress, Erron. That red one was my favorite.’_

Erron gave the unwarranted voice of Mera in his head a crusty click of his tongue.

_‘I didn’t forget.’_

Well, truthfully he had until now, but he had always intended to give her coins for her to pick out her own damn dress. Black didn’t know what the healer wanted as far as attire went for him to pick it out himself…

A sly smile wormed its way slowly across his face, his attention back on the woman in the marketplace retreating further away.

With the old saying of ‘killing two birds with one stone’ coming to mind, he finally formulated a duplicitous proposal that he knew even Norah wouldn’t shoot down. 

The corner of his mouth lifted bitterly to the side…

_Maybe._

As he exited from his room, and headed in the direction of the palace kitchens, a small voice, one that sounded surprisingly like Abraham, chided at him too…

_“You know she still ain’t gonna like it kindly, son...”_

Black shook his head, feeling reticence about the entire plan start to tug at it like unraveling fibers…. 

_“What other card do I got to play?”_

* * *

Carver liked Norah as a coworker but there were also times, he wanted to kick her in the ribs.

Like now.

Teaching the Outworld baker new (Earthrealm) techniques often resulted in two outcomes for him: either pleasantly surprised at how quickly she picked it up or knowing the soul of Julia Childs’ was weeping somewhere in the afterlife. She didn’t do the latter often, but when she did, he also wanted to weep while drinking himself into a coma. If there was tequila in Outworld, he would have done so already.

And he wanted to again the very moment the male chef looked down at the bowl filled with a coagulated, plum-colored dessert curd. He had been teaching her how to construct this recipe for almost a week now, but the woman kept stumbling over one instruction, which, unfortunately, was the most important. 

Still holding the bowl— one she had tried and failed to hide inside a kitchen cabinet she thought he never looked in— he walked over to the baker. Carver knew she could see him out of the corner of her eye and purposefully avoided eye contact as soon as she saw what he had in his hands. She knew there was hell to pay...

“Oh, _Nooooorah_...” he called out to her in a chastising sing-song.

The baker winced slightly and halted her kneading. “Yes Carver…?” she cringed; bracing herself for his reprimand and the impending argument that was to follow. As what tended to happen between them when it came to disagreements about cuisine. 

Regardless, she looked up from her dough, meeting his annoyed gaze. The Earthrealmer blinked his eyes rapidly at her, a tight-pressed smile on his face that was equal parts sarcasm and discontent, as he grasped the wooden handle of the whisk that stuck out of the bowl. 

“Norah… Norah-Norah- _Norah_ ,” he smiled, his voice strained and sweet, as he bared his teeth in an overly pleasant—and very, VERY sarcastic— grin. 

Her eyes glanced down at the whisk, before looking back to him with a callous and impatient expression. “Just speak your mind,” she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a flour-covered hand. “Despite that, I already know what you are going to say.”

The male chef closed his eyes and scrunched his face, hissing air through his teeth as if he just sucked on a bitter, sour lemon. Sometimes he liked her _sass_ , and sometimes he wanted to throw her in the back of a car, watch it roll off a cliff, and relish at watching it burst into flames. Still… he restrained himself, trying to be patient… as much as he could muster...

“You _forgots_ the one rule of ‘Curd making 101’, didn’t ya?”— he dropped the act, regarding her with 110 percent full annoyance and disappointment— “For the _twelfth_ time, dummy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do not be rude to me.”

He regarded her stone-faced. “Then don’t mess up the curd for the twelfth… damn… _TIME…_ ”

She scoffed derisively at him. “I have never even made curd _twelve_ times,” she deflected, her tone both defensive, bratty, and aloof. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Carver agreed cynically, “You haven’t made curd _twelve times_ because you haven’t made it right _once_.”

“Then maybe _you_ should make it, since I am so _awful_ at it,” Norah barbed back, her eyes sharp.

“Nah uh. You’re not getting out of it that easily,” the equally stubborn chef shook his head. “You’re learning, because I know you can do more in this primeval kitchen than play with your Play- _Dough_ in here. So, tell me, what is the one rule that at least 1 star Michelin superstar master chef Carver has about curd?”

Her eyes looked to the corner of the stone kitchen while still addressing him: “.... Continuously whisk for 6-8 minutes until you see the bubble?”

“You wanna know _how_ I know you didn’t see the bubble?” Carver rhetorically asked. “Go on. Tell me. Tell Ol’ Carver how.”

The baker cleared her throat uncomfortably, looking down at her shoes and answering with a mumble: “... because… because there’s... _scrambly_ eggs?”

The chef gave the whisk a quick and angry stir inside the congealed contents for show, his eyes wide at her. “Scrambly eggs! What did I _say_ about _scrambly_ eggs?” He whisked violently once more.

“To not to…” she answered, mumbling even quieter.

“To _NOT_ to!” Carver nodded in agreement. A silent pause hung in the air, and he filled it by giving the ruined curd in the bowl another quick and heated stir with the whisk. 

“My bread was burning,” she explained suddenly, obviously and blatantly lying to him. “I had to stop stirring and by the time I returned to it, it was ruined.”

“Right... the _magical_ bread that was burning, and yet, is still in the oven baking right now. It’s _also_ why you put it in the cabinet instead of just saying, oh, I don’t know: ‘Sorry Carver. I messed it up again?’" he questioned back, raising a perceptive eyebrow at her and shaking his head. “You can’t bullshit a bull-shitter, Betty Crocker.”

“As if to tell you were even an option,” her demeanor grew sour, “I was forced to _hide_ it from you because you would have yelled at me for the _twelfth time_ about something as meaningless as dessert curd. I am tired of being reprimanded for something so pointless,” she snarked back before her tone grew crisp and she added: “Just as you are doing _now_.”

He sighed with ire impatience. “It's not about you messing up the curd that has me _yelling_ at you, Norah. What pisses me off the most is that you lied right to my face just now and _hid_ it from me. You don’t trust me. If you have a question, just ask. You’re never going to learn anything if you hide it like a kid. I’m not going to pull your head off like a Barbie doll if you make a mistake, so don’t be a coward.”

She let out a curt laugh. “Now who is _lying_? I cannot _ask_ you for help because _you_ are an impossible teacher!” she protested, slanting her eyes at him. “And you can be quite arrogant about food. You refuse to listen to me whenever I suggest that Outworlders may not care for something you want to teach. You think you know everything there is to know about a realms’ dishes— a realm that you were never even born in,” she paused, her tone growing impudent,” I do not know if you are aware, but you are not _that_ good of a cook nor are you the best in Outworld. So, stop _pretending_ you are.”

He blew air out his mouth while he shook his head at her, feeling himself bristling instantly at her curt remark. She had _knowingly_ pushed the only button that could make him go Godzilla on Tokyo at her: calling him a shitty chef. It was his only line he had told her never to cross, and she did it _purposely_. Well… If she wanted to put her dukes up, well ding ding, then. 

Carver dumped the bowl on the preparation table next to them; the bowl hitting the surface with a loud thud and causing the contents to almost spill. He gave a sardonic and bitter laugh, brushing his thumb with his nose, as he stepped towards her.

“Oh, boy… let me take this opportunity to tell you a lil’ bit a ‘bout myself” — the proud cook’s temperament both darkened and grew more eccentric, rivaling the intensity of Jack Torrance from _The Shining—_ “First of all, I _DO_ have a Michelin star, and since you don’t know what that is or have one, let me educate you, Little Miss Smart-Ass.”

The baker opened her mouth, preparing to throw back an insult of her own before he stopped her; lifting a hand to press his four fingers to his thumb like a crab pinching; giving her the universal signal to shut it. “Oh, no. _I_ got the floor. It's _Carver’s_ turn.”

She relented begrudgingly, letting him continue; albeit annoyed even as he pulled his hand away. 

“It means I have cooked ALL my life,” he continued, pointing a finger to his person. ”It means I have dedicated my LIFE to providing superior quality food because my momma taught me to have high standards. It's why I even got this job over every other pompous-ass Outworlder who thought they were better than me because of the realm I came from. I like perfection, that is why I come across as _arrogant_. I want you to show the same level, too. It’s called tough love, sister, sorry you can’t deal with it the way I _thought_ you could.”

“I can _deal_ with it,” she snapped. 

He continued, ignoring her outburst. “I’m not _sugar-coating_ things with you because I thought that the mean front that you constantly put up didn’t mean you were also as soft as your dough on the inside. And by the way, the only reason I come across as _impossible_ is because I get tired of explaining the same thing over and _over_ to you. If it's something you don’t want to do, you tend to ignore me like I’m not worth your time—wasting _both_ of our times because you are purposely taking me longer to teach you. You have nobody to blame but yourself for failing curd twelve times, so get over yo’ dumb, stubborn-ass self, _bitch_.”

Her jaw dropped in shock at him. 

“Also, let me tell you another thing: food is what I love to do, it is my purpose for being… and when you, as cute, but _ignorant_ as you are, question my very purpose for _existing_ , and say that I am shitty at what I love to do… I will not hesitate to shove my foot so far up your ass that I’ll be able to tie my shoelaces just by reaching into your mouth.”

The baker blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing as garbled syllables escaped out; the woman too flabbergasted to even come up with a comeback. 

The chef gave her a pointed look, his countenance stern despite his tone cordial. “Do we _comprende_ now? Can we be friends again or are we gonna keep running our mouths off at each other?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, nodding silently; bitter yet genuinely respectful. She sighed, feeling regretful. “I am... sorry if I offended you.”

“Holy shit. An apology from Norah?” Carver chuckled. “Alert the media that Hell just froze over. “

She ignored him. “Is my _transgression_ forgiven?” she asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow at him.

“Apology accepted—I apologize too for calling you a bitch,” he clasped his hands, rubbing them together. “Now… even if it kills me, you’re gonna learn curd. Let’s try it again, and this time _without_ hiding it, maybe?”

Carver had expected the argument to end after brief civilities were exchanged; both of them coming to an understanding, but Norah was a notorious stubborn jackass. 

The baker ran her hands over her face, inadvertently smearing flour across her skin as she regarded him with fatigue… and it took a lot of will power on Carver’s part not to laugh. She looked like one of the white-palmed, face-painted Uruk-hai from _The Lord of the Rings_. Except, he’d much rather be talking to one of them at the moment; they could probably make curd and have a better, more friendly personality than the baker did while doing it. 

“Can we please make _something_ else? I am so tired of this. Can we do something from Earthrealm that is easier? I enjoyed the muffin recipe considerably more.”

“Curd _is_ easy. It's not like I’m having you make macarons— that I’m saving as punishment for later,” Carver objected. “You don’t need a feather, you just have to believe in yourself, Dumbo.”

“It is not,” she argued. “And stop calling me dumb.”

“Actually, I called you an elephant that time and I didn’t mean it. I like elephants and don’t want to offend them by comparing them to you. The point is: you are just upset at failing again is all,” Carver assured, trying to be encouraging despite he felt himself getting irked at her continued resistance. “You’ll get it; you just have to try. Besides… we’re not moving on till you get it right. My teachers never let me so you are getting the same treatment from me too.”

She dubiously shook her head. “It will never happen. I would prefer to work on something that is not so complicated. Outworlders do not even eat dessert curd, so I do not even see the point of what all this is,” she said. “You are wasting time making Earthrealm recipes for a realm that does not even care for them. Like I said before.”

“Or… you’re just making up excuses to avoid making it,” Carver arraigned, frowning. “I don’t even get why you don’t want to learn something new. Unless you really do like making your same, boring-ass, bland bread day in and day out.”

“It is _not_ boring!” 

He ignored her, pursuing on. “How about instead of staying in your little box, think outside of it for once,” — the proud cook’s eyes narrowed back— “and by the way, you’re an _impossible_ student because, just like your realm, you have no sense of culinary imagination nor care to get one like mine does. I’m trying to expand your mind. What do Outworlders do, go outside and eat the grass if they want a salad?”

The door to the kitchen opened, but the offended native-born Outworlder with her back to it, didn’t even notice as her eyes turned as heated as her voice. 

“We do _NOT_ eat the grass!” she scathed. “And your realm's food is no _t better_ than mine. I have tasted better things in the marketplace that would make you _wish_ your realm had it.”

Carver’s eyes darted towards Erron Black, who watched the squabble with a sense of mild entertainment. He regarded them with a tight-lip smile towards them, the man’s arms crossed over his double-bandolier covered chest as he leaned against the stone wall of the kitchen. Still, the younger Earthrealmer pretended as if he wasn’t there— knowing that Norah hadn’t as well. 

Carver had a good guess as to why the gunslinger was in the kitchen in the first place, especially after the conversation the baker and the cook had in her room a few days prior. It was somewhat fortunate that he had shown up when he did— Norah was getting on his nerves, and he would take any opportunity he could to get away from her. She could be the cowboy casanovas’ problem for an hour or so while they both cooled their heels towards each other while they went on their _date_...

Carver smirked briefly in the marksman's direction before turning back to the baker...

And Norah had given him a good idea on how to get her out and about with Black… 

“Big talk, Betty Crocker,” the cook chaffed. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is: go find me something in the Agrabah marketplace that’ll make me eat your words.”

She flinched at his dare; not expecting it. “I am sorry?”

“Did I s-s-t--stut-tut-stutter?” Carver mocked, purposefully fumbling over his words. “You heard me.”

The chef’s eyes slid back to the gunslinger, the younger male relaying a sudden, quiet hint to him as he tipped his head minutely in Norah’s direction and then back to him, before he focused back on the baker to clarify. The cowboy said nothing, barely moving an inch, but the astute slide of his eyes from him to the baker was indication enough he understood. 

Carver addressed Norah once more: “I’ll make you a deal: if you can find something that I cannot make better than Outworlders, or something Earthrealm wished it had, then I’ll back off about the curd and teach you something easier.”

The woman raised a confused eyebrow at him, but before she could say anything, he interjected again.

“But… if you _can’t_ , then you are going to make curd until you get it right— and without bitching one more word at me,” Carver’s eyes gazed up, a longing smile spreading across his face and ignoring both Black and Norah for the moment. “Ohhh… peace and quiet will be soooo nice…”

Norah let out a derisive scoff. “And how am I even supposed to know if your realm has the food or not that I find in the marketplace? It is already an impossible bet. I have never lived in Earthrealm.”

The chef smirked; it was as good a cue as any.

“You can ask _him... Marion_ the _Librarian_ ,” Carver suggested, tilting his head towards the bounty hunter before his mouth curved up into a smirk as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Her expression crimped with bewilderment at him before sudden realization sunk in; the baker already knowing who he was referring to without even having to turn around. Still, she spun on her heels to face the mercenary— and Black gave a short bark of laughter at the woman’s face streaked with lines of flour going vertically down her face.

“Didn’t realize you wore war paint like a Commanche in the kitchen,” the Texan jested. “Did ya’ win, or did the dough get the better of you?”

The Outworld woman furrowed her eyebrows at him momentarily before realization eclipsed across her features and she stiffened with embarrassment. Raising a quick hand, she wiped the flour marks on her face away. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” he shrugged off, his eyes shifting over to Carver before back to her. However, if the quick-ass look was supposed to be a subtle message, the chef missed it the first time. Which made it even more awkward when Erron looked pointedly at him again in a silent and stern command—a command he had no idea what the hell was. 

The cook shrugged his shoulders at him, his palms up towards the ceiling. _I can’t read your mind, brah._

A quiet, and very heavy silence filled the room, Norah also turning to look at the cook, before the bounty hunter cleared his throat loudly and threw a nod towards the back wall of the kitchen.

_Oh?_

Carver glanced over his shoulder, his gaze landing on the heavy wooden backdoor of the kitchen… 

A light bulb went off in his head. 

_Oh_ — _Ohhhh…_

The gunslinger’s eyes narrowed minutely, and exasperatingly at him in warning, the longer he took; both men knowing he finally got the hint.

 _Right_ … _. Make like Jordan Peele and Get Out._

Yet, the younger man withheld conveying anything in his expression that would have indicated he was annoyed with him. He did him a favor but where was his thanks? Regardless, he wasn’t going to push his luck either, so instead, the man looked down at his bare wrist and at the watch that didn’t exist on it. 

“Oh, would ya’ look at the time!” Carver announced, “Gotta go. Outside. Right now. By myself. And not be in _here_...”

The cook walked to the door, very aware of both sets of eyes on him as he exited the kitchen; talking to himself mostly for his entertainment: “So much for me to do! Gotta go feed the hog, wash the car, mow the lawn, go stare at the sun…”

Despite that they had been arguing before, and she had wanted to get as far away from Carver as possible, Norah wished he had stayed behind the moment she watched him exit out the kitchen and close the door behind him. The woman acutely aware it was Erron’s doing because he wanted to talk to her alone. 

She turned back to the gunfighter, clearing her throat uncomfortably. 

It wasn’t that she had never done so before with him. After the last encounter they had, and the unabashed man making it clear of what his _intentions_ had been in that moment towards her, she felt the manner of their relationship change.

She shifted from one foot to the other, the silence between them making her feel she was trapped under a pile of rocks with little air to breathe.

Awkward.

She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand as Black looked about the kitchen; taking absent notes of various things that her workspace contained. 

It was incredibly _awkward_ being around him now, and even more so by the time they settled on finally looking at each other— waiting for one another to address what was lingering in the back of both their minds.

They knew it was the same thought, there was no question, but neither of them was willing to volunteer to speak up first. They would have to eventually clear the air between them. It was also, in Norah’s opinion, a conversation a bit overdue.

The Kahn’s guard had been tied up with other duties, and therefore, she had not seen him at all since then. Although, she doubted the tension between them would have made her less restive whether they had finally encountered each other the next day or the next week afterward. They needed to address it, though… mostly for her sake.

There was a basic reason why: the baker simply wasn’t sure what to expect from him any longer and a bit apprehensive about what he would be like towards her. In the back of her mind, she was also wishing for some sort of apology; wanting him to acknowledge that he may have overstepped his boundaries in his drunken state. However, she knew, drunk or not drunk, he would make no such acknowledgment. It had been a seemingly earnest display of… _friendliness_ towards her and he would never apologize to anyone for being himself. 

Norah rubbed her thumb across the pads of her fingers, fidgeting.

Besides… she hadn’t exactly pulled away either. A fact she knew he was aware of as well.

Although what he had done seemed sincere, she truthfully wasn’t confident it had all been entirely honest. Therefore, she needed to concretely know if his _affection_ had all been genuine towards her, or it was truly because of the alcohol, and it turned out she was simply wasting her time. It had been a question that had been gnawing at her for days...

Thankfully, and finally, for her, he was the first to say something to dispel the uncomfortable silent lull. 

“So how ‘bout it?” he asked nonchalantly; so much so she wasn’t sure what he was referring to. The marksman’s sudden appearance in her kitchen made her almost forget about Carver’s bet. Still, she said nothing; waiting for him to clarify further. 

The man shrugged his shoulders lightly. “I’ll walk you to the marketplace so you can settle your wager.”

“What?” she remarked; puzzled. Norah honestly hadn’t expected him to yes, put in the situation willingly or not. The cupbearer thought he was always so busy with his own business to ever consider others. Besides, she would have figured he wouldn’t have wanted to after the last time they went to the marketplace together; her shoulder gave a slight, pained twinge at the memory. “You are serious? You want to… _participate_?”

He gave a crooked side-smile. “As serious as the business end of a .45’,” Black drawled, the idiom seemingly lost on the woman though she understood his point. 

The mercenary strolled forward from the wall, standing in front of her and hooking his thumbs into his belt loops before he nodded towards the backdoor. “Unless you really wanna stay here and keep clucking like an angry hen at him? Not that it wasn’t entertainin’ watchin’, sugar.”

The baker narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Why was he here in the kitchen to begin with? “You never do things for charity. I would think my affairs would be somewhat beneath you. Why would you want to?” 

He gave her another charming, yet cryptic, smile. “Maybe I just wanna…” he replied. 

The low, yet cocksure way he had said the phrase couldn’t help but make Norah feel there was something else hidden underneath what should have been such a simple answer. There had been a certain… _emphasis_ to the way he had said it. Intermingled in his words like a potent, foreign spice in a meal that made her flush lightly when she heard it. He was giving her a hint to something else on his mind she was supposed to figure out… but couldn’t.

Nevertheless, she stared at him, incredibly skeptical, and with an expression that displayed to him: _“I know you better than **that.”**_

He took a second, looking her over, before he gave a breathy chuckle at her perceptive look, though he took a moment. Gauging her and mulling over the correct assortment of words appropriate for the conversation. “Guess you caught me. I do need a favor, in fact.”

She gave him a sardonic smirk, muttering, ‘I thought so,’ at him. 

He scratched his chin, his expression tightening. “Turns out I do need your opinion on somethin’.”

A small worry grew instantly inside her by just the strange, diffident tone of his voice; as if he knew he was about to give her distressing news. Despite being somewhat anxious to ask, she had to: “And what opinion would that be?”

“Not baking related,” his lips pressed into a firm line as if he didn’t want to admit what it was but had no choice: “I owe Mera payment. A dress. I… need another woman’s opinion picking one out.”

The mention of the healer’s name, and the nature of the favor, made her shoulders sag instantly and feel as if the ground had been yanked out from under her.

“Oh…” Norah frowned, feeling a bit, and unexpectedly, punched sharply in the chest with jealousy. 

He scratched the back of his neck as his visage dropped as well. The usually confident man looking uncharismatically uncomfortable as her demeanor changed. “It's… why I mosied on down here trying to find you.”

She winced slightly, looking at her intertwining and nervous hands. Jealousy swirled in conjunction with resentment tightly in her chest that it felt like a rock rolling down a mountainside and landing hard in the pit of her stomach. It settled there, heavy, and bitter, and weighed her confidence down like an anchor. 

“I see. You need my help…” — she felt herself slump more, sadness clouding her features— “ ...for Mera…” 

He scratched the side of his face, his nails lightly brushing against stubble. “You seem…” he hesitated, trying to find the right word. “ _Unhappy_ by it.”

Norah forced a blank expression towards him. “Not at all…why would I be?” she lied, giving him a fake smile, though her voice was tight and morose.

Erron stiffened, catching her lie easily and the agonizing tension from before returned to wedge in once more between them… 

He placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head and grumbling with ire to himself. “Right…why would ya’ be...”

Only this time, it was _worse_ …

The baker chewed the inside of her cheek, nodding understandably and yet with a small fraction of disappointment and anger as well. Norah had hoped that he had come down here to see her for something else to besides to talk about the other night. 

Aggravatingly, taking Carver’s advice to have _him_ propose a date first, was harder than what she ever anticipated was going to be. The days since her and her friend’s conversation, and waiting for Erron to come to her, had made time drag on excruciatingly long, and unfortunately, filled her with more anxiety if he would ever do so or not. 

Seeing him before her today, out of nowhere, had filled her with both apprehension and hope that he was before her to propose an outing now (after they had their first unhappy discussion out of the way). 

Now, she felt it all slipping away, and an irrational panic set in. The baker wanted to scream at him, give him hints— anything— to aid him along that if he just asked, she’d accept an outing with him… that she was interested if he would only say the words… 

She parted her lips, about to speak and tell him. If he wouldn’t do it then she would—

 _Don’t_. _If he wanted to, he would have asked…_

She pressed her lips into a tight line; restraining the embarrassing and desperate need to tell him she felt clawing up her throat and begging to spill her secret to him. Besides… she saw little point in it now… 

She had been wrong: he was here for _Mera_ and not her. He only came to see her for business, for his folly. He wasn’t before her to ask her for anything other than _that…_ and it made her want to crawl into the cabinet she hid the curd in and stay there for the rest of the day. 

It seemed the bounty hunter didn’t see her the same way as he did with Mera after all.

Her jaw clenched. 

Why would he? 

There was no denying that the beautiful, charismatic healer could outshine a plain palace baker any day. It was barely a competition. Mera would always win.

The cupbearer let out a heavy sigh. 

She truly was a fool this entire time… 

Norah scowled, berating herself for being so imbecilic. How could she be so stupid? He saw her as nobody— honestly what else was she supposed to expect from him? She was wrong: the infatuation was one-sided and he thought nothing of her. His words of interest to her were nothing but drunken dribble after all; he never meant any of it. If he wanted to take her on a date, he would have been forthright about it and wouldn’t have waited this long _._ Black would just ask her without hesitation and she realized that if it wasn’t going to happen now, it would never at all. 

It… _stung_. It felt like someone booted her hard in the stomach. Oddly, she felt worse than she had the past couple of days waiting for a proposal, on pins and needles with anticipation to the conversation. 

Now, she wished it never came at all. 

Nevertheless, she pushed aside her emotional trivialities, remembering her position as a palace employee and rationalizing that she was expected to adhere to a request by the Empress’ bodyguard if called upon by him.

The baker inhaled through her nose; nodding resolutely and professionally, albeit still with disappointment adorning her features and laced in her voice. “If that is what a Kahn’s guard is requesting of me… then, of course, I will offer my assistance.”

Her flat, monotone delivery immediately caused him to bridge his eyebrows at her before he hung his head. He mulled over something in silence to himself. Cumbersome quietness enveloped them once again like a fog. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, muttering ‘goddamnit’ under his breath, that she suspected was not for her to hear, before walking over.

Erron stopped right in front of her, his proximity close... 

Norah looked to the corner, off to the side with a hard, angry gaze, although felt wary with his body in front of her and still within her peripheral vision. _Very_ close… as close as he had been before that night… 

_Stop it._

She scratched her nails along the outside of her blue baking dress and white apron, playing with both pieces of fabric as her eyes remained on the corner of the room. She didn’t look at him— she couldn’t look at him. She felt him staring at her, waiting to be acknowledged, and surveying her for what felt like an eternity.

As more mute seconds went by, Norah felt herself begin to grow frustrated by him— what did he want? She said yes and she would help him with his ridiculous errand for Mera. Why were they still standing here? The sooner they got this over the better!

“Look at me.”

The dejected woman crossed her arms over her chest before she slowly looked up to regard him finally. The baker forced a visage of stone to appear, trying her best to come across as impartial and businesslike to him as she could muster. Her eye contact with him barely lasted a second. It was flippant, only doing as he asked in the barest sense; unable to do anything else with her so spiteful at him. She was so unbearably embarrassed… she just couldn’t look at him. Black didn’t like her, she reminded herself, and she wasn’t going to give away how she truly felt towards him, and act like a fool. After today, she would forget about the entire way she felt towards him altogether…

His fingers gripped her chin gently at the same time he took a closer step to her, awakening her suddenly from her contemptuous and muddled thoughts. His closeness became even more aware to her as he brought her chin up higher to look at him. Commanding her to simply look at him truly like he wished.

His hat and form washed a shadow over her, towering above her, though she felt no threat from it. Intimidated, yes… but not at all in an adverse manner. Her stubborn countenance faltered slightly, taken by surprise by both his feather-like touch and penetrative, yet congenial stare as they stared eye to eye, and remained once again in a quiet deadlock with each other.

Black ran his thumb softly along her skin and waited. Assessing first if he truly had her attention before he relayed softly in a whispered, and poignant, tone: “I ain’t asking as a Kahn’s guard, darlin’ and I ain’t asking Mera…” 

The baker’s expression softened, and she swallowed as she felt the rough caress of his calloused thumb stroke languidly along the bone of her jawline. So smooth and so good… 

“I am askin’ _you_ …” 

The gentle glide of his weathered digit along her skin was texturally course yet ironically delicate in movement. A wonderful paradox. It... _By the Gods_ … it had been so long since she had been touched like this. By a man— a man she wanted. Though she had been angry with him moments prior, she found herself slowly forgetting why in the first place as his thumb continued to glide so nicely along her face.

Ultimately, it was the deep, muted stare that bored into her that made warmth pool into her stomach and made her reconsider what his true initiative this entire time was after all.

The Outworld woman’s lips parted slightly as a gentle breath also tumbled out from them. His action, one so tender and yet so explicit, jarred her to her core. She stood before him quite dumbfounded, the usually quick-tempered woman, one seemingly always equipped with a sharp barb for him, felt rendered awestruck.

Besides the other night, he had never been this way with her. 

Ever. 

And this time, he was completely sober and undeniably honest about it. 

He didn’t want Mera, someone he could have asked easily to resolve his issue quickly, but he didn’t… he wanted her instead. 

It left her speechless. All she could do was replay his words and their inflections in her head. Only after running it over again and again to herself, looking for any falseness within them and finding none, did she realize _she_ had been wrong about him… 

He _was_ asking her. He had been this entire time.

The gunslinger didn’t say the expected words but had said it through his touch, the hidden insistence in his tone, and his penetrating stare. 

Norah studied him back, his eyes dark and ardent, but still unsure towards her, despite his countenance being gravely serious. There was no mistaking what he was asking and was waiting for her answer. Both of them firmly aware that she had finally caught up. 

Black did want her with him and was asking in the only way she speculated, feeling a small measure of guilt on her part about it, he probably felt comfortable doing so with her. 

The dress was nothing but an excuse she suddenly realized — an excuse to see her and a tactic to get her to come along with him. Maybe he didn’t even owe the healer a dress at all. There was the possibility that it was made up to come down to see her? Whether excuse or fabrication, it didn’t change the fact of what his true goal had been all along: to ask her to accompany him.

At first, she couldn’t reason why he couldn’t just say it blatantly— her nervousness would have made her say yes without question— but she soon realized that perhaps he couldn’t because it was difficult for him as well. Either being afraid she would laugh at him for the honest suggestion, not wanting his ego bruised… or simply did not want to be rejected by her, and feel the same way afterward as she had felt moments ago. 

Now she did truly feel like a fool— for not catching what he had been trying to do all along. It made heat travel from her face and careen downwards. 

A small smile appeared on her face before disappearing— replacing it by swallowing lightly when his hand came forward along her jaw and neck. Strong, weathered fingers gently grazed along the flesh of her throat; his thumb brushing back and forth lightly along her jawline and the lower part of her cheek. 

“Woulda’ you say, sugar?” he breathed, his voice husky and rich. “How ‘bout we both get what we want in an even trade?”

His fingertips gripped the nape of her neck softly at the same time his eyes drifted down towards her mouth and lingered there for a long, fervent moment… 

“An opinion…” his thumb stroked smoothly across her cheek, coming to the front, and stopping to travel the tip of his calloused thumb down over her lips; smoothing it over with the barest of touches “...for an opinion?”

Her breath hitched slightly, her body leaning into his warm hand as he went back to cup her cheek. It sent electricity racing down her spine. The promising and burning thought he might be preparing to kiss her— and hoping he would— playing through her mind. 

Then, much to her dismay, a small fraction of cognitive confidence enveloped languidly across his face; the man thinking rationally. He took a step back, and she sucked in a breath— feeling as if she could breathe properly once more. Regrettably, his hand also fell from her face, and her knees wobbled slightly; as if his hand had been the only thing holding her up. 

The mercenary regarded her with a small smile— smirking in his easy-going manner as what was normal for him. His everyday demeanor resurfacing again. It was alarming how quickly he had done so and alarming for her as she continued to stare at him in a trance. Norah still warped and spiraling in the emotions of that hungry moment. 

Much to her surprise, she did find her voice to answer, and spewed the first thing that came to mind.

“Well…” she swallowed heavily. “Mera needs her dress… and I certainly do not want to make dessert curd anymore. The answer is yes. _Yes._ I’ll come with you. That way we can… _help_ each other.”

Black smiled, baring his teeth at her in a pleased grin. “It’s a date then, sugar.”

She said nothing, but in turn, she also smiled back as she felt her ears turn red…

The baker looked away, feeling suddenly bashful, and couldn’t help but notice her dirty and flour covered clothes.

The woman gripped her apron, undoing the strings before throwing it on the table next to the bowl of ruined curd. Norah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um… give me a moment to change first?”

“Take your time,” he nodded, giving her attire a once over, and then smiling with a mild zealous at her. “No rush at all...” 

She moved to walk past him before she felt his hand grip her arm softly—enough to stop her.

She looked up at him, wondering what it was that he wanted, and then blushed when his thumb came up to her face again and stroked over a patch of her heated skin.

“Missed a spot, Commanche,” he explained, his thumb lingering and soft before it dropped from her face.

The corners of her mouth curved up, raising an eyebrow at him. Even though she felt her stomach flip-flopping, the baker managed to throw out a quip. “Did I truly… or was it just another excuse to touch my face?”

Erron gave a small chuckle, his eyes darkening satirically, as she felt the hand on her arm give a small squeeze. “Maybe I’ll let ya’ figure that one out on your own…” he winked before his hand released her.

She bit her lip, trying to quiet her laugh, before she eyed the door and navigated her nervous legs towards it.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, unsure of why (he knew she was coming back) before exiting out the door. Leaving Erron alone in the kitchen…

The gunslinger blew out a small exhale of relief, content that he didn’t lose that one but also discontent that he almost did. He knew he could have handled that a lot better (he knew he should have brought up the spice first) and would make sure he made up for it…

The backdoor to the kitchen suddenly opened, catching his attention. However, the male cook, who he figured had been eavesdropping the entire time, didn’t come through the door; only opening it so his voice could be heard.

“Don’t hurt her Gary Cooper, she likes you,” came the man’s voice. “Technically I am the only one around here to fight for her honor if you do and we both know I can’t kick your ass. Save me from going to the hospital, would ya?”

Without another word, or waiting for his answer, the door shut again and Erron gave the corner of his mouth a tug; unsure if he should be amused or annoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those two idiots on a date... what could go wrong? ಠﭛಠ
> 
> This isn't one of my 'spicier' chapters and more of a setup for the marketplace. 
> 
> Hope you all had a good Valentine's Day if you celebrate it and as always see you next chapter....


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